


Satin, Knives and Gunpowder

by locallilkiddo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, BDSM, Biting, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Marking, Master/Pet, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pegging, Polyamory, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Threesome, Underlying Spy/Agent Narrative, as usual, dark themes, sex slaves, sexual awakening, update tags as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locallilkiddo/pseuds/locallilkiddo
Summary: Nora, forced by her parents, finds herself at an auction for pleasure boys and stumbles upon two mysterious men. Compelled by their beauty, she irrationally buys them, but slowly unravels the mystery that seems to chase after them.





	1. Neon-Coloured Lust

**Author's Note:**

> just looking at the tags i had to add makes me wanna bury myself alive  
> i don't believe im doing this  
> i feel like i already announced it on my tumblr i can't back down now gotta embrace the spice y'know  
> here's my Worst for all y'all sinners out there  
> see you guys in hell 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> Mentions of rape/Metaphorical depictions of rape/Dubious Consent/Non-consensual drug use

She found them in one glass booth together, collars around their neck. For a moment, she thought they were dead, but the longer she looked, the more patient she was, she could see their chests rise up and down ever so slowly. They were like caged animals, tied up and restrained, closed off, subpar, subhuman, a circus act to lecherous on-lookers. 

She didn’t plan to be here. 

This was all dealt by her mother’s hand. Her poisonous tongue. Her ice cold stare. 

She had no choice but go along with it. 

Hopefully throughout the night, she would have found nothing to pique her interest, but then she saw the crowd and heard the murmurs. 

_“Garrison found two beautiful men tonight.”_

_“Subdued them well- used some of those drugs again.”_

_“They’re like dogs in heat now.”_

_“Beautiful dogs in heat.”_

_“Sluts.”_

Curiosity got the better of her. 

She passed the other glass cages with beautiful men and women in them and entered a private, red-hued booth. Booths for more salacious acts to occur. Booths she should never step inside. 

But she did. 

Eight men formed a circle around the glass cage. There were velvet curtains that covered the sides, leaving only the front exposed. 

She moved slowly through the crowd, cautious to not touch any of the suited figures, and wormed her way to the front. Men stepped back. Some left. She ignored them and peered in, like a child at a zoo. 

There were two men inside. 

They laid on satin covers and white silk pillows. Jet black blindfolds wrapped around their heads, and blood red rope wrapped around their wrists and ankles. There was a chain connecting both their collars, short and silver that glimmered in the dim light. Surprisingly, they were all fully dressed. The slimmer one was in a navy blue suit, the jacket popped open revealing a half-buttoned shirt and porcelain skin covered in freckles. The bulkier one wore a jet black turtleneck, a leather jacket and ripped jeans. They looked like the complete opposite of the other, one man of champagne parties and CEO status, and the other of dirt roads and motorcycles. 

The only thing they had in common were the blindfolds, rope, and white collars with the silver chain. When one man moved his head, the other had to follow. The chain was painfully short, and only brought the two of them closer together. 

There was this laziness in their actions. 

It was like they were swimming in water, the world going twice as slow. 

The male in the suit tried to raise his head, tugging his friend along with him, and slowly and shakily, ended up resting his cheek against the other man’s head.They were drugged animals writhing in pain. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his legs around the other, almost clinging to him as if he was going to fall off the bed with one little turn. It was…kind of endearing, in the most morally sickening way possible. They were like blind kittens, trying to find their way, ending up bumping into each other and giving up to lie on top of one another. 

They were like blind kittens because they were drugged- hence morally sickening. 

They looked like they were ripped from their private lives of attending glittering parties and ripping down highway roads, to be locked in a cell for one man’s pleasure. Or woman’s. But she hasn’t seen any women tonight. 

Slowly, she glanced down at the plaque that read their starting price and description. 

_An inseparable, sexy, and volatile pair. A pale-skinned, foreign beauty, and a spicy, mixed beast. Erotic bodies and loose down below. Definite couple for the sadistic type. With enough training, they could be your guard hound_ and _your sweet little puppy._

_Starting bid: 580 thousand_

She must have stared at the plaque for a long time, because when she looked up, all the suited men had left. It took her a few seconds to realize that their absence meant that the auction was starting soon, and she had to snag her seat as well before a grumpy old man did. 

However, just as she was going to spin around, the leather jacket-wearing male shifted in the velvet and silk bed and rolled onto his side, facing his mate. 

The faintest, sweetest moan came out of the little holes of the case. They drifted out of the suited man’s red lips, accompanied by the delicate roll of his body. His groin pressed eagerly against the other man’s groin, and with this angle revealed the erections both men had. 

She felt like a deer in headlights, frozen still as she watched both men shift and twist in their cage, getting closer and closer, their soft whispers seeping through the cracks. It was…erotic in the way they moved, and in the way they moaned. They were nymphs, incubi, sirens calling her, making her watch as the suited man got so close they were pressed against each other completely, bodies rolling, legs interlocking, lips finding one another. 

They kissed. They grinded against each other. They _hungered_ one another. 

And she felt like she was intruding. She watched them connect and taste one another, she watched them pleasure each other. She was a peeping tom, a pervert, a juvenile, spying on an innocent act of love. 

But then again, these two men were sex slaves, and she was a potential buyer. 

 

 

Greyson couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t feel. 

It was like someone had put a thick film around his senses, dulling them, muting them, blinding him in every sense of the word. It was like he was swimming in violent seas- swirling, twirling, drowning, and dying. 

He wasn’t sure if he had a blindfold on him or not. His eyes were too heavy to open up. He wasn’t sure if he was tied up. He felt like he was floating out of his physical body. He didn’t know where he was. His ears had this constant dull ring in them, as if he’d just suffered a concussion. 

His mind was groggy. What was he doing? What had he done? How did he get here?

He could only vaguely remember the sharp prick of a needle. Maybe a fist. A hand? Where? 

Between his legs. 

_Between his legs._

Then there was that drowning sensation. And he couldn’t see. And he felt hands. 

Bad hands. 

Not his. 

Not Remus’. 

Touching him. 

_Touching him._

Greyson moaned out. 

He could feel it. 

_He could feel it._

Between his legs, between his legs. 

His heart rammed against his chest. His body throbbed. 

His legs were shaking. 

Between his legs were wet. 

Hands. Hands. Hands. 

He could feel it. 

The dull pain that rolled through his body had a source. It hummed. It vibrated. It _pulsated._

He felt sick. He needed to vomit. 

He needed. 

?

Stimulation?

_Stimulation._

A toy. 

His toy. 

Many toys. 

Between his legs. 

In him. 

Fuck, _in him._

_Fuck in him._

_Fucking him._

Greyson cried out and shook violently. Oh god, oh no, oh no, _oh no._

It felt good. 

So good, so good, so good. 

Oh, he was delirious. 

So many toys crammed inside him, fucking him, pleasuring him, pounding into him- it felt so good. 

When was the last time he was ravished?

When was the last time someone loved him?

Remus?

_“Remus.”_

His voice was hoarse. Grating. Not his. 

He needed more. Stimulation. Pleasure. Ecstasy.

_Remus._

Somebody. 

_Anybody._

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. 

Toys weren’t enough. 

He needed a cock. 

He needed a body. 

He needed pain. 

Remus. 

_Remus, Remus, Remus._

Fuck me with the toys in me. I need you, _I need you, I need you._

Spank me and choke me like the way you used to. 

Spank me and choke me like when we were little boys. When you didn’t smell like gunpowder and I didn’t have scars. When it was just you and me, in that small, cramped dorm, and both of us were high on ecstasy and hormones, and you weren’t afraid of anything and I was in love with you. 

Come into me. 

Become mine again. 

Remus, _Remus._

My cover, my shield. 

My eyes, my arms. 

My partner, my love.

 

“ _It smells like shit back here.”_

_“Let the groomers do what they have to, asshat. If they want to dump a bottle of perfume on these sluts, let them.”_

_“They’d be sexier without it.”_

_“They’d smell like shit. Sex, spunk, shit.”_

_“Agree to disagree, I guess.”_

_“You just want to fuck them without them smelling like a woman.”_

_“I fuck with women, this shit’s just giving me a headache.”_

_“Then leave, pansy.”_

Remus knew they were moving. 

He didn’t know where, but they were moving. 

His smell and hearing were partly intact, and from what he could deduce, they were out of the auction hall and down a long corridor, nearing another highly populated place. The smell of the sickly sweet perfume was an indicator, as well as how the workers’ voices echoed in the space they were in. The closer they got to the end of the corridor, the sweeter it smelled, and the echoes vanished. Then there was this hum through the air, and a chorus of voices and noises that overwhelmed his senses. 

Crying. Slapping. Cracking. Shouting. Moans. Screaming. Slamming. 

_“Boy number twenty-seven, at position!”_

_“Boy forty-five, prepped and ready!”_

_“No! Let go of me!”_

_“Fuck, fuck-”_

_“You look so hot, babygirl.”_

Remus felt nauseous. 

_“Daren! Are those the Golden Boys Garrison were talking about?!”_

_“Fuck yeah, man! Look at these fags, so curled up into each other.”_

Remus’ blood went cold. His heart raced. 

Groggily, he shifted his legs and felt another hot body against him. A little sigh escaped their lips, and a tongue lapped at his ear. 

_Greyson?_

_“We need them prepped and ready to go in half an hour. Get another round of that Moon Dust in ‘em, will ya? Gary says these boys need to be on a high dosage.”_

_“They violent?”_

_“They’re the most violent boys we’ve ever gotten. Whoever gets them will have to spank some sense into them.”_

There was a round of laughter. 

_“I’d gladly do it to the blondie over here. Look at him, he’s rutting against the leather fetish one.”_

_“If I had the money, the things I’d do to this boys.”_

_“Hey, if we keep our heads down and get all this prepping done fast, we could have some fun with them before they get sold.”_

_“Well, shit, dude, we better drug em’ up fast.”_

_“I guess we do!”_

Another round of laughter. 

Then they were being wheeled away from the noise and smells and to a more secluded space. There were more moans. Whines. Groans. Slaps. Spanks. 

It echoed. 

Remus’ heart was in his throat. He tensed up. He geared up. 

He heard the clinking of keys. The jiggle of a lock. Then the hot, stuffy air in the cage was sucked out by the cool air outside. 

Remus struck. 

He felt his neck snap back as a heavy weight held him down. 

Greyson?

He powered through it and smashed his head against the closest man. A flurry of curses and shouts echoed through the room. Violently, he shook at the restraints, and ice cold dread washed through him as he realized he was chained down to the case- his coffin. 

_“Fucking drug him!”_ One screamed. 

A hand smashed against his face and many others pushed him down. Remus screamed. He snarled. He bit and spat. 

And then there was that sharp needle again. He cried out and thrashed recklessly. He felt it shoot up his veins. It was painful. 

Painful, painful, painful. 

_“Fucking drug him again!”_

_“Are you serious?”_

_“Fucker broke my nose, bitch deserves to fucking see death!”_

Another needle. Stabbed into his neck this time. 

Remus roared and shook. 

A fist collided with his stomach and he was winded. He curled into himself and gasped for air. There was a ringing in his ears again. 

He couldn’t understand what the men were saying now. 

He was falling. Tumbling. Twirling. 

It was like he was being buried alive. 

Choking on dirt, body weighed down, _dying._

And then there was that red hot pain. 

Pleasure. 

_Stimulation._

 

 

“ _Nora,”_ a tall, dark-skinned man yanked at her arm. 

A bubble of a gasp escaped her, and hotly, Nora looked up. 

“Nora, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he hissed. 

“Cyrus,” she said, a little dumbfounded. 

He frowned and sighed. A crowd of people were starting to jam up on the steps because of their little bout. Hastily, Cyrus tugged her away from the steps, and to the seats he snagged. The auditorium was dark, and many times Nora tripped over feet because of how quickly Cyrus went. His hand clutching on her forearm hurt. 

“You could have gotten hurt,” he hissed, just loud enough to be heard throughout the murmuring through the theatre. 

“I’m fine, now,” she whispered softly, pulling back her arm finally. 

Cyrus studied her for a moment and groaned, leaning back in his seat. 

“You’ve already missed half of the auction, and given me a headache.”

“Sorry.”

“This place is dangerous, I need to be at your side at all times. The next time you wander off, I need to be with you.”

“If it’s so dangerous, then why did you let Mother bring me here?”

“I can’t speak back to your Mother.”

“You could have.”

“What she’s doing is for your own good.”

Nora’s lip trembled. “No it’s not.”

“Just…buy one pleasure boy and be done with it. I can make them into another servant and maybe for a year your parents will leave you alone.” 

Even though she hated him, Cyrus was right. 

Reluctantly, she nodded and sunk into her seat. 

Intermission ended and the auction resumed. 

There was this odd hum in the hot, humid air as everyone waited for the curtains to open up again. Curious, Nora scanned the crowd and only saw suited figure after suited figure, seeing no one of her gender or status. It was a decently large crowd, with men ranging from their early twenties to their late seventies. Her stomach twisted at that fact. 

She didn’t believe she was here. 

Then the curtains opened up and revealed the next pleasure boy. 

A clear voice rung through the auditorium and began firing off numbers immediately. 

Before Nora knew it, five pleasure boys were sold. 

Her mind was still thinking about how most of the boys being sold were young, and the men that bought them were too old. And she felt sick. She felt like…crying. 

Her hands were clutching her armrests, nails digging into the velvet. Shakily, she sighed, feeling tears well up in her eyes. 

She knew that stuff like this happened. 

But being apart of that vicious cycle was something completely different. Something violently, disgustingly horrid. 

She watched in pure terror as one boy after the other were bought. Some boys were crying. Some were happy. Some were furious. Some were too drugged up to react. And the men all around her didn’t react at all to the boys’ woes. They just snickered or breathed too hard or were ready for the next one. 

Nora was in the middle of a pack of monsters. Nightmares. 

She was a monster, a nightmare. 

She wiped the tears from her face. 

She needed to leave. She needed to get this done and dealt with. 

And then _they_ came out. 

Chained together, groggy and weak, two men were carried by workers to the middle of the stage. Immediately, the crowd murmured in excitement, a new electricity in the air. The two of them fell to their knees with a loud thud, crumpling upon one another, almost melting into the floor. The leather jacket-wearing male looked almost dead, barely sitting up straight, leaning all his weight onto his partner, who was breathing hard with his head down. 

_“Now for one of the gems of the night, the two Golden Boys handpicked by Garrison himself, Boy number eighty-seven and eighty-eight,”_ the auctioneer said, more alive and interested. _“This bid will be for both of them. We’ll be starting at 580 thousand.”_

_“600 thousand!”_ A man shouted immediately. 

Gasps and whispers went through the crowd as the price shot exponentially. 600 turned to 650 and 650 turned to 700. 

780\. 

820\. 

900\. 

The audiences’ volume got louder the bids increased. Nora was almost out of her chair, desperately looking for the three bidders shouting. One was a young man in the front. The other was a middle-aged man in the back. And the last one jumped in around 900 thousand and sat two rows in front of Nora. 

_“Oh, Darrel is joining in.”_

_“He’ll kill them.”_

_“Watson will kill them as well.”_

_“Watson would definitely whip them into shape.”_

_“Have you heard? Apparently those boys were trying to kill Garrison, that’s why one of his boys in the front is trying to get them. Exact revenge, maybe.”_

_“Everyone who wants them are sadistic psychopaths.”_

Nora swallowed thickly. 

She stared down at the two men on the stage. The leather jacket-wearing one looked dead. And the suited one looked defeated. 

Stray kittens. 

Shakily, she grabbed her number. 

_“We’re up to 970 thousand! 970 thousand! Do I hear a 980 thousand!? 980 thousand!?”_

“One million!” Nora shouted, with all the pent up fury in her. She was out her seat. Her voice echoed.

The auditorium gasped. Heads were turning, men were muttering. The third bidder nearest to her swirled around, and Nora stared at his beady eyes. She mustered all the energy she had to match his intense stare.

_“One million! I hear one million! Do we have any contenders!? One million, one thousand!?”_

The other two bidders in the front and the back sat back down. Nora still stood triumphantly in her seat, glaring down the last of her competition. 

_“One million, 200 thousand!”_ He shot back. Another ground of gasps. 

Nora’s hand tightened on her sign and she shot it back up again. 

_“One million, 700 thousand!”_ She shouted again. 

Her contender’s eyes widened in surprise and he visibly shrunk away. Nora’s heart was threatening to burst out of her chest as she watched him slowly lower himself back into his seat. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. 

_“One million, 700 thousand! Do I hear one million, 800 thousand? No?! Going once, going twice- SOLD! Number eighty-seven and eighty-eight sold to bidder 148!”_

Nora collapsed into her seat. Her stare laser-focused on her _boys,_ watching workers drag them to the other side of the stage. She saw stares from other men wanting to know who bidder 148 was, and she heard murmurs of pure awe at the thought of her. Cyrus was yanking at her, and shouting, but she kept watching how the workers held her boys, and how she’d be the one touching them now. 

They were her kittens. 

Pets. 

Property. 

 

 

“I don’t fucking believe you wasted almost two million dollars.”

“I didn’t waste two million dollars.” 

“Your Mother didn’t want you exceeding more than one million!”

“I bought two men, what do you expect?”

“I expect you to not buy two men, and more notably, two very _violent_ men!”

Immediately, Nora stopped walking and swirled around, Cyrus almost bumping into her. Hotly, she glared at him. 

“Isn’t it your job to protect me?” She hissed. 

Cyrus’ eyes widened. 

_“_ Do your job, don’t be my babysitter.”

Cyrus scowled at her. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If you show any disrespect again, I’ll personally tell Mother to get rid of you.”

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

Cyrus was silent for the rest of the walk down the velvet corridors to the exchange bay, where they’d pick up their merchandise. It was quiet, with lots of workers lounging around getting ready for the next purchase to be made. Nora saw her number shining bright near one of the docking bays and she hastily walked over. Her boys were in a glass cage again, lying asleep. Cyrus gave the keys to the car to one of the workers, while Nora walked around the glass and instantly lifted the top hatch. 

“No disrespect, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” one of the workers instantly said, pushing her back and away from the glass cage. “The bigger one attacked one of my buddies.”

Now that Nora was closer, she could see the slight bruises on his face. 

She stared back at the worker, older, wrinkles in his face, and his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. 

“Wait, you’re a lady?” He blurted out loud. 

Instantly, Cyrus got in between both of them, like the guard dog he was supposed to be. 

“Don’t touch her,” he warned. 

Nora avoided the worker’s stare and walked over to the hatch again. 

“They’ll have to come out, I have no room in my car,” she said bluntly. 

And just as she remarked about her vehicle, a slick limousine pulled up at the exit of the bay, thin and long, and most notably a trunk that was too small for two muscular, large men. 

The workers exchanged bizarre looks and backed away from the glass cage. Nora opened it up all the way and peered down on the two boys, curious like a child receiving a present. Hesitantly, she reached out for them, and slowly slid her fingers across the suited male’s cheek, a little surprised by how hot and how soft he was. Then she traced her fingers through the other male’s hair, noticing how much he was sweating, and pushed his hair back to see the strained expression on his face. 

Hazily, the man opened his eyes, his eyes a brilliant and glimmering copper, and blinked a few times before closing them once again. 

The car parked right in front of the group and Nora pulled away to let Cyrus and the other workers carefully pull the two males out of the cage and load them into the back seats of the car. A worker came up to her to give her the keys to the chains and restraints on them, as well as a small, thin box. 

“These are the drugs to keep them subdued. If you ever need more, there’s a card in there to contact us,” he murmured, winking at her playfully. 

Nora looked at him, shocked. “How long do the effects of the drugs last?”

“Twenty hours, drugged them up real good for you an hour ago for the auction. You’ve got plenty of time to play with them before you need to shoot them up again,” he chuckled darkly. 

She frowned. “What drugs did you use on them?”

“A new strain of Moon Dust, stronger in pleasure, and lesser in pain and hallucinations.”

Nora bit her lip and nodded slowly. “…Ok, thanks,” she said softly, a little lost. 

 

Greyson swayed from left to right. It felt like he was on a boat, or maybe in a car, swaying from left to right. Left to right, left to right. 

He felt sick. 

He felt…hands. 

A hand. 

Warm, gentle. 

Small, soft. 

Almost like a child’s. 

Fingers brushed the hair covering his eyes back, and nails traced down his cheek to his chin. Automatically, Greyson leaned into it, feeling the hand cup his cheek, the touch feather-light and ethereal. It felt good. Dizzyingly good. 

The hand smelled of vanilla and felt of satin. Smooth, soft, silky. Something he would gladly lie and sleep for centuries on. Something he would gladly die on. 

Everything hurt but this hand. 

His body felt like it was slipping from him, but this hand kept him grounded. Kept him alive. It was like the string on a balloon, a balloon filled to the brim and ready to explode. 

God, this hand felt so nice. 

His eyes felt heavy, almost like they were sewn shut. He wanted to open them, but his body didn’t want to cooperate. Maybe it was the fear in him he tried to hide away all those years ago. The fear of realizing this hand wasn’t what it was supposed to be. 

Hope. 

Trust. 

Love. 

But maybe this hand was the opposite. The enemy. This hand was the fist that struck him, this hand was the fingers that violated him. 

He didn’t want that to be true. He loved this hand. It felt so good running through his hair, and rubbing his cheeks. 

He kept his eyes clothes because he didn’t want to know the truth, like a child hiding under covers whenever he hears a scary noise. It’s naive, it’s stupid, it’s something he knows better. 

But this hand. 

Shit, this hand. 

It reminded Greyson of Remus. 

The tenderness of its actions. The heat of its palm. 

It was smaller that Remus’ hand though. Softer. Gentler. Remus’ hands were scarred and calloused. Knobby and rough. Nevertheless, it felt good, and it made him feel the same way he felt about Remus. 

He wanted them. 

Weakly, he opened his mouth. A silent whine passed his lips. The hand combing through his hair stilled, and the other slipped up his neck. It felt good. So good. 

Fingers ghosted up his chin and ever so slightly, touched his lips. It was like electricity shot through him, and his body was hot all over. Lava coursed through his veins, fire boiling in his gut. He whined out, an actual whine this time, and he felt his body tremble as those fingers pressed harder on his lips, feeling the shape of them, the nails slightly scratching the sides of his mouth. He breathed hard. Was he even breathing at all?

Greyson couldn’t take anymore of it and he darted his tongue out to taste them. The hand on his hair jolted and the fingers near his lips stilled. They let him lick the tips of their fingers, Greyson shaking all over, tasting vanilla and spices and flowers and metal, feeling the bumps of their fingerprints against the tip of his trembling tongue. He lapped them up like a treat, his whole body melting into the ground after being so tense, so repulsed by the thought of the lewd act he was committing right now. He opened his mouth wider and the world spun as the fingers finally moved, going deeper into his mouth, curling on his tongue, nails grazing his tastebuds, skin slicked in his saliva. Sinfully, he closed his mouth on them and sucked and tasted and licked them all over. He took in four fingers, his tongue running over the knuckles, and cheeks hallowing out to greedily suck them deeper in. He felt like a child suckling, and that very thought was immoral as he felt all his boiling blood rush down to his cock. 

His body writhed, one half telling him to stop, and the other half urging him on. He saw stars behind his eyelids when the fingers started to slowly move in and out of his mouth, matching the slow pace he had created. That half that begged him to stop seemed to get smaller and smaller, and a new wave of pleasure took over all his senses. 

He wanted these fingers in him. 

In his mouth. 

On his skin. 

Pinching his nipples. 

Sliding down his thighs. 

Grabbing his cock. 

Fucking his insides. 

Greyson’s mind spun. 

He needed stimulation. More, more, _more._

He needed _more._

His heart raced. His throat tightened. His legs tingled. 

Shakily, he cracked open his eyes. 

At first, there was just darkness. 

But then, pink splashed over the scene, over leather seats, over rainy windows, over a figure, over the hands, over a face. 

Greyson stopped sucking on _her_ fingers, and opened his eyes a little wider. Neon pink light flashed over her features. And then another set of lights passed by again, Greyson able to get a better look at her. Neon blues, greens, pinks and reds splashed over her once more. 

Big, wide eyes. Flat nose. Full lips. Soft, round face. Dark, olive skin. Long, long hair. 

She wore a tuxedo, and leaning against her was Remus, his eyes closed, his cheek pressed against her shoulder, his body limp and relaxed. 

Greyson’s heart fluttered. He was in her lap. His body was lying across leather seats. He was in a car. Where was he going? What happened? The chains, the leather, the silk, the satin- where did it go?

He tried to move, but his body betrayed him. It felt like he had cement bones, his body uselessly limp and willing to this girl with big eyes and dark olive skin and sweet fingers. It was taking up all his energy to keep his eyes open, and he could feel the exhaustion weigh back in again. The scene was slipping away from him, and the training he had been beaten with for twenty years was slipping away with it. Logic was out the window. Any plans, any deductions, any actions fizzled out. He remembered her fingers in his mouth, and he lapped them up again. 

 

Remus could see colours behind his eyelids. 

Cyan, magenta, yellow, pink, red- they were neon, bright and obnoxious. It stung his eyes, leaving a dull ache that pulsated his brain. The colours mixed and mingled, swirling together like a braid, changing from one shade to the next, psychedelic in nature. It kept mixing and mixing and mixing, and the more Remus stared at it, the more he forgot who he was, why he was here, and how this should hurt him. The more he drowned in these colours, the more he felt himself slipping from reality, dancing with these colours, mixing with these colours, feeling these colours, wanting these colours. 

A red reached out for him, shaped as a hand, slender and small, and it reached out for his cheek. Electricity shot down his spine, enamoured by this crimson, hypnotized by its colour. It felt good against his cheek. It felt good through his hair. It felt good down his chest, and between his legs. 

Remus moaned. 

The red painted his skin, like a serpent devouring its prey. It crawled up and down his body, slithering its way under his clothes, violating him, pleasuring him, fucking him. He cried out, body shaking at its red-hot touch, spreading his legs, letting it slip past, widening for it, wanting it, begging for it. It felt good. 

_Good, good, good._

He moaned out again. He wanted more. 

Stimulation. 

He needed more, stimulation. 

He let the red coat his insides, drown his body in its shade, and let it infect his body, turning his blood neon red. 

He felt like a slut, hungering for its touch. 

He leaned back and cried out as the red pressed even further into him, as if it was fucking his stomach now. He craved it. He needed it. He bounced on the red ardently, desperately, his cum dripping ofits shade by now. 

Then neon yellow reached out this time, the shape of a cock, the shape of lust, the shape he hungered for more than ever. Greedily, he leaned in and licked it, tongue coated in yellow, and then swallowed it whole. He let it fuck his mouth, his spit bubbling out from the sides of his mouth, matching the shade of this neon cock that pulsated against his tongue. Yellow dripped down his chin, mixing in with the red that previously stained him, his body coated in a new shade altogether. Penetrated from the top and bottom, his body shook at the neon-orange pleasure. He slurped up the yellow like a delectable treat, and slammed his ass against the red, letting it abuse his sweet little spot. 

The world was spinning by the time cyan crept between his legs and took hold of his cock. He choked on the yellow, whimpering out with orange tears dripping down his face. Neon blue wrapped around his dick like a tentacle, capturing him, sucking him, pleasuring him in ways a hand could never. It squeezed at his balls and pumped his dick, his cum and the sweat staining his thighs turning purple. 

All three colours worked together, gang-banging him, fucking him, and ravishing him. They found every weak spot he thought he killed and exploited it. Remus was at the verge of cumming, turned on by every neon colour, coated in their shade, until the blue teased his slit too hard and slid right in.

He screamed. 

The pain was excruciating as the blue shot right through his urethra. It plugged him up like a little toy, stopping the pleasure instantly and bringing in dread that shook him to his core. He cried out and fucked into the blue harder, trying to shake off the shade, but it sat on his skin like a tattoo, blue a part of him now. 

Yellow counter-acted his violent shakes by suddenly shoving its cock back into his mouth once again, and pounding into his throat as if he was a low-grade slut, a cheap fuck it paid change to do. His whole body pulsated, pain and pleasure mixing and twisting like the psychedelic colours around him. He submitted to the yellow, letting it take over his mouth, and in turn the red matched its violent pace, stretching his insides, drowning it in its crimson cum. 

He let himself be treated like a sex toy, and the moment he accepted that, more colours seemed to join in. Magenta and pink were next. Emerald and purple followed afterwards. They all stretched his insides, drowning him in their colours, fucking every opening possible. They treated him like filth, and Remus revelled in it. 

He wanted to be their slut. 

 

A hard slap smashed across Nora’s face. 

She took it soundlessly, letting her face whip to the side and recoil back. Her right cheek burned, pulsating and throbbing. 

“I ask of one thing of you, and this is what you give me?” 

Slowly, Nora looked from her shoes to her mother’s boiling hot stare once again. Her whole face was red. Shaking, she pointed at the two boys lying on her bed. 

“You buy _two,_ and not only _two,_ you bought the mixed and pale one,” she hissed. “You selfish, _selfish_ child.”

Nora blinked at her, not breaking eye contact. 

“I have never asked anything from you, all I ask are these two,” she said evenly. 

Her mother looked shot. Spit flew from her mouth. 

“Look around you child! Look at these furs, at these silks, at that piano, at this view, _everything_ around you is something Father and I bought for you,” she shouted, venomous. 

Nora shrunk away. She was right. She was chained to this house because of the debt she owes to her parents. 

“I will ask of nothing from you anymore,” she whispered softly. “Just these two, please.”

Her mother paused for a moment. 

“Do your fucking job and then I’ll forgive you,” she spat. Hotly, she turned away and stormed out the door. 

For a long time, Nora said nothing and did nothing. She just stared at her door, Cyrus standing a meter away from it. He said nothing to her, his eyes, however, staring straight at her and saying a million words. 

She sighed and avoided his stare. 

“You can leave,” she whispered to him. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I want to be alone with them.”

“That is why I can’t do that.”

“Cyrus, that’s an order.”

“Nora.”

Hotly, she glared at him. She stomped up to him and raised her fist. However, before she struck him, she stopped, staring into his wide, horrified eyes. Instantly, she dropped her hand, dread washing in like an ice cold wave. 

“I’m not my mother,” she whispered a little lost. She stared up at him. “Cyrus, please, leave.”

“I can’t.”

“Then can you at least just…stand outside? I only want to wash them and put them both to bed.”

“They aren’t pets.”

Nora paused. 

“Yes, they are,” she said slowly, a little surprised she even said it in the first place. “I…bought them. They are mine to keep.”

Cyrus’ eyes widened, and then he scowled. “You’re so naive.”

“Leave.”

Hotly, he turned around and slammed the door behind him. 

Instantly, Nora deflated, finally unclenching her trembling hands. She sighed shakily, trying to take deep breaths but always stuttering in the end. Leaning against the door, she slid down it, tears welling up in her eyes, and crumpled into a ball. For a long time, she didn’t move, trying to regulate her breathing and calm her shakes, but to no avail. She ended up sitting on the floor, mesmerized by how her hands shook so violently. At her calmest and safest, she was still so anxious and so on edge; she felt like a time bomb ticking and ready to go off. 

Rubbing her eyes, she slowly got up, taking deep breaths, feeling her cheek throb, and approached her bed slowly. 

Her boys laid limp against her sheets, shallowly breathing. 

Now that they weren’t in a glass casket, she could smell them, and they reeked of musk and sweat and _sex._ Nora wasn’t naive, she knew what these boys have gone through. What made them violent, what made them so alluring. 

Slowly, she reached out for the suited figure. Her fingers trembled against his cheek, electricity running through her as she felt his cheek for the second time this night. She remembered his hot tongue between her fingers, and those needy, dewy eyes casted over neon pink lights. She sucked in a breath and leaned closer, slipping onto the bed, her heart thumping against her chest as she cupped his cheek and turned his head to the side. She heard him suck in a deep breath and slowly, he opened his eyes. His eyes were a brilliant blue-green, a bewitching emerald that glimmered in the dim light. They were clouded and unfocused, and they darted from left to right as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle. Pink lips parted and a little moan escaped him, and instinctively Nora leaned in a little closer.

She didn’t know what she was doing. But it felt good. It felt exhilarating, having her hands against such a beautiful man, a man that trembled beneath her, who submitted to her every will. 

She kissed him. She kissed him softly as if she was an owner kissing a pet, her kitten, her _kittens._

She leaned over to touch the one in leather. He reacted similarly, his eyes darting left and right underneath his eyelids, and rolled over to the simplest command. His breathing quickened and eyes fluttered opened. They were a shimmering copper-bronze, almost gold in the dim lamplight, shaded by his long eyelashes. His red lips parted open and his hot breath washed over her face. His breath wasn’t particularly pleasant, yet Nora found herself leaning in and kissing the side of his cheek. However, unlike the suited figure, he reacted and sucked in a shaky breath. A wet tongue licked at her lips and she froze in place, looming over him, holding her breath. Slowly, he licked up her chin to her lips, breathing hard, golden eyes hazy and half-lidded. There was no force to his actions, his tongue barely grazing her lip, but nevertheless it flipped a switch in Nora to lean close and invite his tongue into her mouth. He shivered, and she felt a hand graze her waist. He was weak, so tragically weak, but he tried his best to clutch onto her suit jacket and tug her closer, guiding her tongue deeper into him, gasping now, wanting more. 

Red hot pleasure bubbled within her as they kissed, these feelings and sensations and situations new and exciting, Nora in love with the way his soft tongue glided against hers. They kissed wet and sloppy, with so much tongue, so much teeth, and so much spit between them. She was shaking, she was excited. This man was almost twice her size, yet trembled like a kitten below her. She felt powerful, power she hasn’t felt before. She could do whatever she pleased with him, with _them._ They’d submit. 

They had no say. 

She pulled back, and a groan left him. His mouth was still parted open, and with her pointer finger, she pulled back his chin, making him open his mouth even wider. Without missing a beat, she spat into his mouth. 

Something disgusting and vile was seeping out of the cracks of her innocent shell. This was all new to her. Sexuality. Obsession. Attraction. 

She watched strings of spit fall from her lips into his mouth. His hazy eyes focused on her and then blinked slowly, as if he truly was a cat, trusting her, loving her. Then he closed his mouth and swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. With no hesitation, he opened his mouth again, ready for more, and Nora couldn’t contain herself anymore. She shoved her lips against his, hands running down his chest, finding his jacket and unzipping it, feeling his shirt, feeling his hard nipples, feeling his rippling muscles, and pulled out the knife from her butt pocket. She pulled back from the kiss, strings of spit dripping down her chin, and leaned back. She flicked the blade open and for a moment assessed the situation. 

She had just bought two drugged up sex slaves and was holding a knife. 

She swallowed thickly and began to cut away at the leather-wearing man’s black shirt. She’ll buy him a new one. She’ll buy both of them new clothes, new toys, a new life. They were hers now. She’ll need to give them names. She’ll need to brand them. 

Nora licked her lips as she tore the collar of his shirt apart and pushed the cloth away to see his bare skin. 

Her stomach dropped. 

His torso was covered in scars and bruises. 

Scratches, bullet wounds, welts, burns. Green, blue, purple. His skin was a network of colour and scarred flesh, every infliction a mystery and story Nora didn’t know about. Immediately, she unsheathed her switchblade and cast it aside. Her heart was in her throat. She leaned in close and got a better look at his mutilated skin. His bruises looked fresh, situating near his ribs and stomach, as if someone had kicked the shit out of him previously. They aimed low and not at his pretty face. He had a huge scar that slashed across his chest from what Nora assumed was a knife fight. At his left shoulder and just below his right ribs were bullet wounds. Nora couldn’t stop herself from touching the scars, feeling the difference in the flesh, morbidly curious about how a sex slave got such wounds. 

Then she took a peek at his nipples, perked and swollen, and noticed the fresh bite marks. A little bit of blood crusted on some wounds, and her stomach swirled.

Shakily, she stripped of his jacket and shirt completely, noticing the prevailing trend of scars littering his arms as well. Less bruising, but fresher scrapes that were deep red. Her eyes raked down his figure, muscular, broad, big, with a full chest and toned muscles, down to his pants. Slowly, she undressed him. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. His pants were…damp. And one look at his cock, Nora knew why. It was angry blood red, twitching and pulsating, precum drooling from its tip, smeared everywhere. His erection looked painful. But what was more alarming were the wounds on his thighs. Fresher scrapes, darker bruises. Without thinking, Nora flipped him around and gasped. 

His ass was welted to hell, bruising a deep, deep purple. The backs of his thighs were lined with red marks from assumedly a whip, and his skin was awfully sticky. Nora sucked in a breath and took a look at his asshole and saw the plug. Her hands gently touched his ass, and he immediately reacted, whimpering, adjusting his position, arching his back tastefully, and showing off all of him to her. There was a lump in her throat. His cock hung heavily between his legs, still oozing, with his balls covered in cum, which could be his, or more likely the cum that trickled out of his asshole. Trembling, Nora touched the butt plug that poked out of him, the boy gasping and shaking, pushing against her finger, making her push the toy deeper into him. Slowly, she grasped the end of it and pulled out, watching the boy convulse, watching his reddened asshole dilate as the toy revealed itself. It was long and bulbous, three balls stacked upon each other and tapered. A moan ripped from the boy’s throat, louder than all his other whines as she finally pulled all of it out. 

Then came the cum. 

It trickled out of him, streams of it, that dripped down his balls, his cock, and onto the mattress. His ass clenched and relaxed, the boy dripping of so much cum, filled to the brim of it, men’s seed flooding out of him. 

Nora remembered the workers and her blood ran cold. 

She wondered how many of them fucked him. Hurt him so they could fuck him. Drugged him. 

Eventually, he relaxed against the pillow and Nora shyly rubbed his tense shoulders. She didn’t dare try to touch his ass, it so spanked to hell any stimulation must hurt, and opted to rubbing out the tension of his shoulders as a way of apology. 

“My poor kitten,” she whispered, voice awfully hoarse and thick with lust. She tried to ignore the latter fact. Seeing a man dripping of cum did not arouse her. It didn’t…

She ripped her eyes from his abused asshole and to her suited man. Instead of shredding his shirt with a knife again, she unbuttoned his top slowly, watching him breath slowly as she did it. And just like before, she was presented with a scarred and bruised torso. He didn’t have as many bruises as her leather boy, but he had twice the amount of bullet wounds. There was one on his right breast, one near his hip, and two below his left rib. Discarding his jacket and shirt completely, he had wounds on his shoulders and arms as well from what Nora can tell is too many nicks of a bullet. He was in more firefights than knife fights than her leather boy. 

However, the most striking feature had to be the silver nipple piercings, two little bulbs on each red, swollen nipple. Cautiously, she touched one of the balls, feeling the coolness of the metal against her fingertips, and slowly swiped her finger across his perked nipple to the other side of the piercing. Almost immediately, the boy reacted, gasping sharply and arching his back. Nora’s fingers were shaking as she teased his nipples, her body trembling with both terror and excitement. Her mind was swimming. These were new sensations, new feelings, new situations she’s never had before. After twenty years of confinement, of being parched of another body, of chastity, she’s lying here above two beautiful boys, her boys, for her sexual pleasure. 

Slowly, she licked the man’s nipple. She felt him tremble below him, the male rolling his body as a hoarse whine ripped from his throat. His skin tasted like salt, and Nora ignored the bitterness of it, so much more entranced by the feel of his cool piercings and throbbing nipple in her mouth, hypnotized by the boy’s reactions to her gentle suckling. While she worshiped his nipples, the boy shifted on the bed and hands dragged down to his groin, slowly and groggily unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down. Surprised, Nora pulled back, her whole body throbbing with adrenaline and glanced down at his pretty pink cock. She swallowed thickly and helped him shuck off the rest of his clothes. Unlike the leather boy, the green-eyed one had enough energy to keep his eyes open and watch Nora take in the godly sight of him. He had a slimmer build, sensuous in a way, but anyone could see that behind the soft, pale skin was muscle all over. He had an dancer’s body, slim yet powerful, compared to his partner, who had more bulk to him. 

Soundlessly, as Nora took in the sight of him, her green-eyed boy shifted onto his back and shakily opened up his legs. Nora held her breath, taking the next grotesque sight of him, running her eyes down the backs of his thighs, seeing the similar whip marks and bruises. He too had a butt plug, however what differentiated them was the two rectangular boxes taped to the insides of his thighs. Cautiously, she untaped the toys from his legs and followed the wires that connected the boxes to his insides. Biting her lip, she removed the butt plug, finding out that the toy was even larger than the other one that also pulsated in her hand. Shocked, she threw it far away from them, the dull buzzing of the toy taking over the eerie silence of her bedroom. As expected, cum leaked out, Nora shivering at the sight, and reached down between his legs again to gently pull out the wired toys. The male let out a silent cry, his body curling upwards at the sensation, legs closing in on her, trembling, as she pulled out the first bullet vibrator. It was thicker and bigger than she expected, and it vibrated more powerfully than the plug. It was coated in cum, and Nora quickly threw it away, smearing her dirtied hands on her sheets, her stomach doing flips. Then she pulled out the second one, arising a similar reaction from her boy, and trashed it. However, he kept whimpering and moaning, a hand clutching hard at the sheets as his torso tightened and thighs shook. In awe, Nora watched the cum drip out of him, and slowly but surely one last toy poked out of him. At first, she thought it was just a simple pink silicone ball, but he kept pushing and moaning and shaking and another ball came out, and another. He was stuffed to the brim of two bullet vibrators, a thick vibrating butt plug _and_ a long chain of anal beads. His insides were stretched to its limits, coated in men’s cum, and vibrated and stimulated to hell. Nora helped him extract the last toy and watched him visibly relax against the sheets after the last toy was removed. 

Her poor boys, stuffed and stretched, drugged and abused. Her two beautiful boys, bred to be sex slaves, hiding a violent past she didn’t know about. Her _kittens,_ her pets to love her whole-heartedly, her toys to play with. Her sex _slaves._

They needed a bath and a patching up. 

 

 

It smelled like rose and lavender. It was warm and cold at the same time. 

Remus felt like he was floating, existing on a different plane of existence, reality slipping from his grasp. Colours were gone and replaced with darkness and sensations, the feeling of his lower torso warm and wet, while his shoulders and face were uncomfortably cold. The more he thought about the sensations of floating, of warm and wet, the more his senses started to cut back in. It was like he was falling out of a dream, resurfacing from a dark one, coming back to life. 

He breathed in deeply, smelling the sweet, floral scents this time, feeling the humidity on his skin, the warmth of the water. 

He was in a pool. No, a bath. It was too warm to be a pool; too humid and small to be a pool. He felt the porcelain walls against his arm, and the haunting sensation of a warm body on his opposite. The drugs were still flowing through his system, this aching throb in him that never stopped, and he didn’t have enough energy to at least flinch at the realization he wasn’t alone in the large tub. He breathed in deeply again and slowly loosened his jaw, testing out what his body was capable of right now. From the ache of just moving his chin, he couldn’t do a lot.

He felt pathetic. A failure. 

He was better than this. But the drugs tied him down with steel chains, and he was fighting his raw, basic instincts. He felt like he was being pushed down by millions of hands that touched him in places only a select few have touched, making him feel things he thought he killed years ago, and Remus was desperately trying to fight them back, on his back now, screaming and shouting, crying and pleading, his head the only thing free while the rest of him drowned in this red hot pleasure. 

He felt like a mutt, a dog, in heat, drooling and acting up, ready to fuck whatever reached out first. But he was also a human, a sensible man, trapped in this animalistic body that wanted to fuck and be fucked.

A whine escaped him. 

He had tried to bite it down. But the thought of him being in heat like an animal horrified him. It brought down his walls for a second, and the demons in him overrode that fantasy. 

The naughtiest, sluttiest parts of him loved the idea. They loved the idea of him on a animalistic rampage to fuck the closest thing that breathed. They loved the idea of him spreading his legs out for the nearest cock and fucking him into oblivion. They wanted to stretch out his insides and drown him in pleasure, make him become addicted to the feeling, a slut, a whore, who needed stimulation twenty hours a day, seven days a week. 

The colours came back. 

They came in waves. 

First came pink. Then came blue, and then yellow. They spent no time pinning him down and fucking him again. Another moan ripped from him, it echoing this time, his mind acutely aware that he was still in the bathtub, while internally colours fucked his insides like rabid animals in heat. He whimpered, he trembled, he shook. It felt good. It felt more than good. It was euphoric. Remus threw his head back as red slid between his cheeks again and fucked his insides. He screamed when yellow penetrated his urethra and met red halfway at his prostate. He cried out when they smashed against it, his balls tight with cum. He was ready to climax, begging to climax, but it didn’t come, and he was stuck in this purgatory of painful release. 

Angrily, he smashed his head against the tub and immediately hands grabbed at his cheeks. 

The sweetest little hush cut through the neon fantasy and smashed him down to earth. It felt like someone had stabbed him. 

He opened his eyes. 

It was dark in the spacious bathroom, only lit by the dozens of candles on the shelves and counters, and it turned the scene golden and warm. He was indeed in a very large bathtub, and right in front of him, naked and golden, was a girl. She looked young, maybe in her early twenties, around the same age as Greyson and him, with big innocent eyes and long raven hair. The sight stunned him for a second, as his mind had been swimming in saturation and neon colours, and presented to him was a beautiful girl coated him warm, soothing hues of gold and bronze. 

_“Kitten,”_ she said slowly. 

Her deep, velvety voice brought shivers down his spine. Her hand lifted to run a hand through his hair. She tipped her head to the side and sighed softly. Her breath smelled like mint. He shivered again, eyes feeling heavy just looking at her. 

Her fingers in his hair felt electric. He’s had colours pound into him day and night for who knows how long, drown his body in their fluids, but this one innocent act of a girl pushing his hair back made his heart flip. He leaned into her touch, shaking, trembling, wanting more. His eyes took in the lovely sight of her, finally dipping down to see her naked body, loving the curves of her, the darkness of her skin, the fullness of her little breasts. He hasn’t seen a naked woman in a long time, moreover touched one. It’s always been men, some beautiful like Greyson, some ugly like the colours that plagued his fantasies. She was soft and round, inviting, sensuous and gorgeous. 

Remus’ stomach dropped, because his next thought was to not pin her down and fuck her, but spread his legs open and let those fingers in his hair fuck his insides to oblivion. 

 

_“A-Ah, ah, aah…”_

_“Mmmngh…”_

_“F-fuck m-me…”_

_“Aah, ah, ah.”_

Greyson knew those whimpers. He could _taste_ those whimpers. He could recognize that voice anywhere, his mind flooding of memories of those exact whimpers. 

He knew those whimpers. Those moans. Those curses. 

He learned them under sheets when they were sixteen, young, innocent, starved of one another. It seemed to always go on night after night after that. The same sweet little whines coming from such a rough, overtly-masculine mouth, those lips dewy of Greyson’s spit and teeth. They were sixteen, dumbasses, horny for one another, naive to think that in the business they were in would ever let them continue to commit the sins they did under his sheets. 

_“A-Ah, ah, aah…”_

He relearned those whimpers when they were twenty. Four years of oppressing that feeling exploded one night. He could still taste the bitter, polluted air on his tongue, and the diesel and grease on his skin. They were supposed to be working. But Greyson wanted him, and he knew he wanted him back, and for a night they squished themselves into the backseat of an old diesel truck and fucked each other’s brains out. They didn’t stop until morning, and kept going on with the mission even though both of them were filled to the brim of each other’s cum, their underwear and suits coated with their spunk. 

He knew those whimpers. He purposefully memorized those noises, those sweet little sighs, those gravelly groans, those sharp curses, because he knew every time they did it, it was going to be their last. They always fucked like it was the end of the world. Sixteen, they did it because they couldn’t hide what they felt for each other. Twenty, they did it because they wanted each other one more time before diving into a mission that could potentially kill them. Twenty-three?

Slowly, Greyson turned his head to the side and cracked open an eye. 

Presented to him was Remus. 

_“A-Ah, ah, a-aah…”_

Remus moaned so sweetly. Remus, who fucked Greyson so roughly, so desperately when they were younger, moaned so sweetly. He knew those whimpers. Felt it in his goddamn bones. 

Remus cried out and arched his back, grabbing on tight to the edge of bathtub. Water spilled off the edges. His golden eyes opened- those same eyes that many times have looked at him with bubbling, sexual intensity- and lips gaped wide.

A tongue licked at those lips. 

An arm disappeared into the water, situated in the middle of Remus’ bent knees. It moved, it flexed, it shook in such a violent way it displaced water. That arm connected to a slim, naked body. That arm connected to a woman, olive-skinned, sensuous, long-haired, _beautiful-_ that same woman Greyson worshiped in what he thought was just a fantasy, her fingers in his mouth, his body trembling for more. 

This woman was fingering his beloved. And his beloved was absolutely in love with her, moaning in the same way he moaned for Greyson’s cock. 

His stomach dropped. He felt like he was dunked in cold water. 

Remus’ moans became poisonous, painful to listen to. His breathing quickened, and Greyson shifted in the tub, shocked at the sight, horrified and confused, his body working a tad bit slower than his mind, slipping off the edge of the tub, submerging in the hot water. He resurfaced quickly, spilling tons of water off the edge, his legs kicking and flailing, hitting the other two, feeling his legs slide against Remus’, feeling his body react so violently at feeling his soft skin, cock throbbing, mind swirling, body combusting- 

_“Grey-”_

Remus’ voice cut in like a knife. That tight hold on his emotions and urges he’s chained down for years now snapped instantly. Greyson stared at Remus. Remus stared back. This strange woman stared at him as well. 

It felt like the world was on fire. 

All three of them knew what was going to happen next. 

This was against protocol. This wasn’t a part of the rules. This was something both Remus and Greyson swore they’d never do again. But Greyson saw the boiling need in Remus’ eyes and he felt the bubbling blood surge down to his cock. He was never going to get a chance like this ever again. He was never going to ever see Remus at his rawest state, animalistic, horny, _hungry and desperate_ of _him._ Remus will never moan so deliciously sweet. He won’t open up his legs like this, he won’t bite his lips like this, he won’t _love_ Greyson so explicitly like this. 

Greyson sat up, listening to the water drip off him, and stared at Remus from below. He could see his breathing quicken, his eyes go wild, his muscles tense. He wanted him. 

He wanted him, he wanted him, hewantedhim- 

Suddenly, a hand grabbed at the back of his head, yanking on his hair, pulling him down into the water. His eyes rolled back into his head and a surprised yelp escaped him. It felt good, god, it felt _perfect._ His legs tingled and rapidly he blinked to the side where the girl had taken hold of his hair.

She was smiling. 

Crazy-eyed, animalistic, raw and real. A face Greyson knew. A face he’s made. A face he’s fantasized about many times before. She wanted him. She was taking pleasure in having him. 

Greyson’s legs went numb when she kissed him. He wasn’t expecting it to be so bruising and so confident and so rough and possessive. Those fingers were so much gentler in his mouth. Her tongue, her lips, her teeth were ruthless and powerful and sadistic. 

She bit his lip so hard it drew blood, and licked it up. He felt that from the tip of his head to the tips of his toes. His cock throbbed between his legs. 

_“Mine,”_ she whispered ever so softly in his ear. She grabbed at his nipples and tugged hard. He sucked in a nervous breath and whined. He felt winded, dizzy, and pumped on adrenaline. 

No one, not even Remus has been so possessive. And it felt good to be loved. To be needed. To not only be a damn number on a screen but a living being that wanted to be needed. 

Greyson kissed her as passionately as she kissed him. She bit his bottom lip to smithereens, blood dripping down his chin, getting into the water, or mixing in with the spit they passed through. 

Then the water around them shifted again and Remus was sitting upright and nuzzling his face into the crook of Greyson’s neck and it felt like the air was humming with electricity. The woman pulled back, strings of spit and blood connecting their swollen, bitten lips, and watched as Remus replaced her and the two of them finally kissed. 

It was like wandering a desert for years to finally find an oasis. 

Remus tasted like god. Greyson was fucking parched of him, and finally he felt so full and alive and loved. Remus’ movements were sloppy and slow, but Greyson didn’t give a shit as he took over him, pinning him to the tub, fucking his tongue into his mouth, alluding to the sins he’s going to commit, licking and tasting his entire being, biting those lips so hard to break and bleed. Spit and blood and sin passed their lips, Remus whining between breaths, Greyson growling and snarling like a rabid dog, his body suddenly straddling Remus, his ass grinding on his throbbing cock, his heart soaring and mind melting of memories of situations like this before, all the while emptying this poor tub of all its water with all their rough play. 

Then the girl with soft hands and a sweet voice cut in again and Greyson was thrown out of the loop. He didn’t hate her, he didn’t know what to feel of her, but he wanted Remus, he wanted Remus in him fucking him, drowning his insides, and he snarled when she tried to kiss his shoulder. A darker side of him wanted Remus all to himself, and he shoved her hotly away, hearing her squeak as she banged into the opposite side of the bathtub. 

Remus seemed to stiffen at the noise she made, choked and shocked and high-pitched, and lifted his head to look over Greyson’s shoulder at her. Something changed in his eyes and suddenly Greyson was halfway out of the tub, his ass in the air, his cock pressed against porcelain, Remus’ hands on his hips. 

Ruthlessly, Remus spanked him. Greyson screamed out, his legs tingling, his ass throbbing, his wounds and bruises he forgot he had resurfacing back to life. It was like Remus had ripped off a scab, and blood gushed from it. 

_“Bad boy,”_ Remus growled. Greyson’s cock throbbed at the insult, his body screaming for more. 

_Spank me more. I deserve it. I’m a naughty boy. Fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuckme-_

Suddenly there was a large bang. Greyson reacted slower than he wanted to, listlessly looking left and right as noises assaulted his senses. 

_“Cyrus!”_

_“Nora, get away from them!”_

_“It’s not what you think!”_

There was a crash and a clatter. More water spilled over the sides. Remus and the girl twisted in the tub. Then violently Greyson was thrown to the side, back into the water, and saw the girl fighting with a suited figure. He was holding a needle. Remus clicked back to old Remus, lunging at the man, but too weak against him, the needle stabbing him, and falling back into the water. Greyson’s heart pounded and he sat up too, but it was too late as a new needle stabbed him right in the arm. 

 

Remus was fighting an uphill battle. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to think, it was hard to see. Everything was swirling again, morphing and changing colour, neon taking over his senses again. He desperately tried to fight it, remembering who he was and where he was, shaking the shit out of his head violently, thrashing his whole body to remember pain and not pleasure, regulating his breathing to ground him down. The world was slipping from him as he was dragged down a hallway. The floorboards were dark brown, not neon red. The light was dim, not blinding. He needed to remind himself that. He was in danger, not in pleasure. He thrashed in the arms that dragged him, growling and spitting, remembering who he was, a fighter, a man, that was better than the drugs in him. 

Then, violently, he was thrown into a room, and Remus hit the carpeted floor hard, winded for a moment, groaning in pain, and rolled onto his back. The man that carried him and assaulted him and drugged him stepped forward and hotly stomped on his stomach. Remus wheezed in pain, tears prickling his eyes, the neon taking over once again. 

_“Let me make this clear to you, slut,”_ a voice cut in. 

_“You’re filthy, you’re just a sex slave. You don’t belong here. Don’t get in the way, and I won’t kill you. Never ever touch Nora again.”_

Her name is Nora. 

“ _Nora,”_ Remus whined out instinctively. 

The foot on him pressed even harder. He winced and coughed, pain flooding his system, all alarms going off in his head that he was going to die. 

_“She’s mine!”_ He roared. _“Fucking touch her, and I’ll kill you. She’s mine!”_

Remus couldn’t breathe anymore. His eyes fluttered shut. 

 

 

Nora sniffled and wiped away the tears rolling down her cheek. 

“You hurt them,” she sobbed out. 

From the kitchen, she heard a bang and the water shut off. She didn’t dare stare at Cyrus. 

“I heard a scream and I acted accordingly,” he barked out. 

“You didn’t have to drug them!” She shouted back, swirling around in anger. Cyrus was standing in front of the stove, red-faced and wild-eyed. 

“They were going to hurt you, _Nora,”_ he hissed.

“We were going to _fuck,”_ she spat out. “You took that away from me!”

Hotly, he walked over to the dinner table and stabbed a finger in face. 

“You don’t know what the hell sex is, Nora, that’s not sex! That’s assault!” He screamed. “They were going to _hurt_ you.”

Angrily, Nora sat up, tears dripping down her face. She exploded. “I was going to _fuck_ them, Cyrus! I wanted to make love to them! Isn’t that why we bought them in the first place!? So I could fuck their brains out and provide my shit mother with an heir!? Isn’t that what I was raised to do!? Fuck a man and give everyone a wretched baby!?” 

Cyrus looked shot. 

“You weren’t raised to just give a baby,” he said quietly. Nora’s known him for all his life to know that furious anger hid behind that veil of calm. “You were raised to be perfect. To be seductive, to be _wanted._ You had a million other men that wanted to fuck you, but you chose the ugliest, perverted choice of buying two wild dogs. A woman of your status shouldn’t _fuck_ those animals. That’s not perfection.”

“Then what is, Cyrus?” She hissed. She hated every single word that spewed from his mouth. 

“Being with a man like me,” he blurted out. 

Nora paused. Her blood ran cold. 

She’s known this man all her life. He’s been at her side since she was a baby. A man five years older than her, watching her grow into a woman, quietly watching her with eyes that silently undressed her day after day. Hell, he’s seen her naked. He’s washed her, bathed her, clothed her. He’s been her care-taker as well as her bodyguard. He’s been the eyes above her while she sleeps, the eyes running down her body when she changes, the eyes between the cracks in the door when she pleasures herself. 

Nora backed away from him. She saw the colour fall from his face. 

“Nora,” he said, shocked, all anger extinguished from his tone. 

“Where did you put them?” She asked quickly. 

His eyes widened and face curled. Her heart wildly thumped against her chest. The stairs were five steps away. She just needed to get there and figure out where Cyrus has hid them. 

“Did you put them in the guest room?” She interrogated. His expression didn’t change. She laughed sharply, trying to calm her nerves. “Of course not, you hate them, you wouldn’t give them a room with a bed. You wouldn’t put them in the library either.” 

Cyrus stepped forward and Nora stepped back. Her mind was racing. He was a cruel man when he was angry. She’s seen the state of his victims, from kidnappers to sleazy rich kids. Bruised and bloodied. Inches from death. He would put them somewhere where they suffered. 

One time, when Nora was ten, she wanted a kitten. 

She found it on the side of the road, dehydrated and mewling. It was one of the times when Cyrus let her go out and explore the town she lived in. Cyrus hated the kitty. Her mother said it was ok. She took care of it religiously, nursing it back to health, devoting all her time to the kitten. 

However one day the kitten disappeared. Cyrus’ mood seemed to have brighten after the cat was gone. Nora searched every inch of the household for her kitten. And eventually, a week later, she found it dead in a small supply closet in the basement. The maids tried to tell her that it probably just wandered into there and got locked up. But Nora knew someone purposefully put her kitten in there. The door was locked. Cyrus said nothing, but he offered to bury it for her. Even put flowers on its small grave. 

Nora booked it down the stairs. She heard Cyrus scream out her name, and heard the thumps of his boots chase after her. But she jumped down the stairs like her life depended on it, fuelled on rage and fear and adrenaline, skipping steps, not afraid to fall, while her large bodyguard took one step at a time, just as he always did. She soared down to the basement and sprinted down the long dim hallways. She saw the supply closet and smashed it open. Without missing a beat, she slammed it close and locked the door. 

Cyrus banged against the door, shouting and cursing. 

_“Nora! Nora, please! Fucking shit, Nora! It’s not safe!”_

She was still crying, gasping for air, and stepped away from the door. Her whole body was trembling. She saw the knob jiggle, Cyrus desperately trying to pry it open, but to no avail. He punched the door, the hits shaking the whole house, before quieting down. He breathed in a few more times and cursed under his breath before stalking away. 

Nora fell to the floor, sobbing and gasping for air. 

Then she turned around and felt her heart swell as she saw her two boys, naked and wet from the bath, curled in the corner of the empty, dark room. She scrambled up to them, her new kittens, and hugged them tight. They were cold, and Nora clung onto them for dear life. A hand clutched her waist. Another wrapped around her shoulders. Two heartbeats thumped against her. 

What Cyrus didn’t know when she was ten and he was fifteen was that she had opened the locked door with the key master’s help. After finding the kitten dead, as a gift, the old key master gave her the key to this very room. There was only one copy, and she had it. When she had turned fifteen, she decided to throw it into the sea with a lot of her other belongings from her childhood. No one had the key to this room. No one could ever disturb her. 

No one could ever kill her kittens again.


	2. Kitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Graphic References to Rape/Dubious Consent

Greyson was keenly aware he was on drugs. 

He knew he was dosed with aphrodisiacs, so that’s why he was acting like an animal in heat. He knew he was probably approaching the overdose limit for these drugs, and that racing of his heart was literally a sign his body couldn’t break down whatever shit was in his body. He knew these impulses and impure thoughts that mudded his brain were the drugs talking, egging him on to act accordingly, but he still felt like a little part of the grotesque, sinful and obscene thoughts that plagued his mind were dark subconscious secrets he kept denying himself. 

Fuck whoever comes in sight. Drown them in cum. Leave their skin covered in bite and scratch marks. Leave them broken, thirsty and hungry for more. Break the goddamn rules and fuck the shit out of your partner. 

Greyson shivered at the thought of Remus. 

His body was heavy, and his eyelids were heavier, but he was keenly aware Remus was here. Somewhere in the dark. It wasn’t like before. Before, there were toys, the smell of cigarettes, booze and sex, the thunderous laughter of a dozen men, and that wet, unbearable heat that came with all of it. Greyson was literally blindfolded and tied up. He was screaming. He was cumming. He was being ripped in two by dozens of meaty hands that plunged into him. He could hear Remus screaming too. Snarling. Howling. He was like a wolf, animalistic in every way, biting and fighting the dozen men. Three needles in him and he was still violent, fighting off the drugs, taking on the whole goddamn world. He never moaned for them. He never enjoyed it. 

(Greyson enjoyed it) 

(-their cocks stuffing his asshole-)

(-their cum in his mouth-)

(-their fingers, their hands, their legs, their toes, their mouths, all touching him, hurting him, loving him-) 

But this time it was different. 

It was quiet. Dark. A little cold. 

(-their cocks ripped him in two, reminded him of what kind of filth he was, reminded him of the power of a man, reminded him of fantasies he’s desired ever since he was young-) 

Remus wasn’t screaming this time. He was breathing heavily, trembling and shaking, his hand touching Greyson’s waist, Greyson’s cock leaking onto the cold ground, wanting that hand up his ass- 

Greyson let out the breath he was holding in. Was he crying? He didn’t know. Everything was happening at once, and also nothing happened at all. The world was spinning one way, and he was spinning the other way. 

Kitten. 

_“Kitten.”_

Kitten. 

A hand brushed his face and he trembled at her hot touch. 

(-Greyson was a slut, he wanted to be filled to the brim with cum, he wanted to be pounded into every orpheus imaginable, he wanted to feel like someone’s hole that enjoyed his heat, his sex, his smell, his kiss-)

Without opening his eyes, he knew the hand belonged to the olive-skinned girl. He was starting to learn her smell. She smelled like roses, mint and lavender. Earthly tones compared to the smog-filled air, cigarettes, cologne and musk he’s grown accustomed to these past few weeks. 

(-he loved being overstimulated to the point where he’s crying and sobbing and scarred and needing to release but that release isn’t cum and he’s squirting all over the floor, ashamed, embarrassed, horny for more-)

_“Kitten.”_

Her voice was angelic. Kind. Sweet. 

(-their voices were garbled and rough from too many cigarettes, their laughter grating to the ears, their insults so lecherous and obscene, yet Greyson begged for more, wanting to be their little slut, wanting to be their whore, wanting them to fuck into his cunt, wanting them-)

Greyson never saw himself was a feline. 

He saw himself more as a dog. A guard dog. A hound. Dogs were faithful and loyal to their masters. Obedient. Intelligent. Both loveable and formidable. They were honest. 

Cats were rouges. They abided to their rules and their rules only. They were secretive and dishonest. They were faithful to no one but themselves. If you let a cat out, they’ll never return. 

A dog would. 

Greyson was a mutt. Not a kitten. 

Her hand brushed through his sweaty hair, and lips found his neck. Arms were around him. She sighed softly. 

_“Oh, poor, babies. My sweet little kittens.”_

(-Greyson wanted to be stomped on. Greyson wanted to be spit on. Greyson wanted to be treated like a little bitch who’s only job is to suck and take dick like the pretty boy he was. Treat him rough, treat him unfairly, treat him like a goddamn slut because the more you hit him, the more he loves you, the more he wants you, the more he bounces on your fucking dick because he’s like a fucking mutt in heat- you can’t stop him, you can hurt him, and he’ll still love you because you’re the only one there for him, providing him a goddamn meal and shelter so stuff that big cock into his pretty pink mouth because he’ll take anything down to feel alive and loved-) 

Greyson snapped open his eyes and immediately bit down on the girl’s shoulder. It was dim, but he could see the horror in her eyes. 

(Be afraid, be mad, be _furious_ and punish me, _punish me, punish me, punish me-)_

His blood pumped adrenaline the moment he tasted her blood. He mounted her, he grabbed her, he straddled her. He was still naked, wet from the bath, hard from the bath, hurting from the bath. 

(His ass throbbed.)

(Maybe if he hurts her, Remus will spank him more. Punish him more.) 

He grinded his dick against her soft clothes, feeling his precum dirty them. She smelled so good. She squeaked so cutely. His hands pinned her small arms to the side. This was his show. This was his seduction. His body rolled in artful, sinful ways that had her hypnotized. He saw it in how her pupils blew up, in how she sucked in a breath. She was intoxicated. Greyson was too, smiling, borderline laughing, rolling and gyrating his hips like a nymph, fucking her stomach, smearing his cum on her shirt, making love to her torso. She was hot. She was heat he craved for so long. 

She might not be a dozen hands, a dozen eyes, a dozen mouths, a dozen cocks, but she was something else entirely. Instead of demons, he was given an angel to defile. He was given a toy to pluck its wings bit by bit, deflower her, make her see the world in his eyes, turn her onto his side. 

Just like how that group of men ruined him, he would do to her. 

Like an incubus, he would seduce. Like the devil, he would trick. Like Greyson, he would kill the old in her and birth a new sweetheart that would gladly fuck him into oblivion. 

 

When Remus opened his eyes, the world was full of colour. It kept morphing and changing, as if he was squeezing his eyes tight and those sparkles would appear, neon and painful, twisting and turning. He was breathless for a moment, slipping into the colours, forgetting who he was, but brought back instantly as a hand grabbed at his chin and yanked him upward. Dazed and dizzy, he automatically opened his mouth and let lips and tongue devour him, remembering this taste, remembering these gasps, remembering his touch. 

He was kissing Greyson. 

His midnight fantasy, his wet dreams, his best friend, his partner. 

The only man who’s made him feel so human before, so alive and together. 

He knew his taste. Revelled in it. He knew the shape of his mouth, the alignment of his teeth, the length of his tongue. He had thick lips, lips Remus could bite on, and sharp teeth, teeth that could be deadly if he lashes out. His tongue was long and flexible, Remus remembering those short nights when Greyson was between his legs and his tongue was going deeper and deeper and Remus was crying out and stretching his asshole to be fucked by his long tongue, loving the curve of it, the blinding hot wetness to it, and the man attached to it. 

In Remus’ heated hallucination, Greyson was yellow. Bright. Obnoxious. Warm. 

He tasted like drugs and booze, and his body moved like drugs and booze. His hands were heavy against him, rough on his skin, violent in his actions. One moment Remus was lying on the ground and the next he’s sitting upright, a tongue down his throat and fingers crawling down his spine. The fingers slid past his butt cheeks and settled on his hole- abused, swollen, throbbing- and he teased the poor puckering ring, Remus’ eyes rolling back and a whine escaping his cracked lips. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see another colour. This colour’s different from the psychedelic nightmare around him. It’s dark, deep, nearly a salmon pink, with more orange. It’s comforting, that magical shade of pink that catches clouds on a good sunset. It’s so wonderful on Remus’ sore eyes compared to Greyson’s screaming neon yellow, and he found himself reaching out for it, listening to her gasp when the tips of his fingers grazed her arm. He grabbed onto her shoulder and pulled her close, feeling her pulse against his hand, feeling a strange wetness on her shoulder. The colour was deeper, and he instinctively held up his fingers to her lips, and she licked it, her mouth small, but hot. Her tongue was shorter than Greyson’s, and her teeth were all round and smooth. A shaky breath left her when his fingers grazed the roof of her mouth, and then she’s sucking on them, eyes staring at him wide, the scene overtly pornographic. 

Greyson broke off their kiss to notice Remus’ attention fall onto this sunset pink girl, and then the world changed again, Remus hitting a wall, the girl falling into his lap, and Greyson boxing them in. Remus can smell her breath and it smells like roses and mint and his body remembered her fingers in him moments ago, plunging into him, pounding his prostate, his body pulsating and begging for more. The realization hit him so hard it left him breathless for a second before lunging at her, kissing her, licking her, dragging his nails down her back. He licked at her shoulder, tasting iron, realizing now what she had previously licked was her own blood, and her blood tasted sweet and Remus licked her wounds, feeling like an animal but loving every second of it. Naturally his legs loosened and wrapped around her waist, tugging her even closer, wanting her to get the hint, and she’s getting half of it, her hands trailing up and down his torso, but not going lower, not fucking him silly like last time. 

Her pink shade smeared against his skin, as well as the neon yellow handprints that appeared occasionally as Greyson groped his body while he licked and tasted this girl’s skin behind her. She tasted like god and Remus couldn’t blame him for wanting such a delectable flower after weeks and weeks of being pounded with dirty sex toys and smelly cocks. Now they have the sweetest treat, a woman, with delectable folds and ridges, with curves and valleys. Her sex was something he’s been starved off for months, all soft and wet and beautiful, smelling like flowers, smelling like an oasis. 

God, he wanted to fuck her. He also wanted to be fucked. He also wanted a million things at once. 

But then she suddenly stood up and his choice was made for him. Her legs went wide and her shade got redder down there, and even more juicy and delectable like a strawberry. Her hands found Remus and immediately he let her yank at his hair to shove her pussy right into his mouth, his whole body aflame, his cock throbbing, this thirst finally quenched. 

She tasted like cherries. She tasted sweet and she was warm and it’s soft and gentle and delicate compared to throbbing dicks and meaty hands and sour cum. Remus licked a big long stripe up and down her pussy, feeling every fold, loving her goddamn petals as if she was a sweet-smelling flower, and sucked hard on her little button. Her whole body tensed and shook as he pleasured her clit, going in hard, bruising circles, the sadistic possessive part of him loving seeing her overwhelmed. His face was covered in her slick as he dove in deeper and deeper to pleasure her, only using his tongue, his hands clutching hard onto her thighs to keep him from falling over. She had muscle behind those curves, and they tensed and relaxed with the flick of his tongue. 

Then, surprisingly, Greyson’s hands slid on top of his, and Remus could see neon yellow coat her rosy red pussy now. Remus pulled back, her pink slick dripping down his lips, and watched as Greyson pleasured her other hole. Remus’ body flared up at the obscene sight, remembering his long tongue, remembering those hot nights, remembering what damage he could bring. And this sweet little girl was an amateur. She crumpled at his tongue, immediately leaning forward and catching the wall. The moans she let out were beautiful. Remus watched her breasts sway above him for a moment before finally joining Greyson between her legs once again. 

It was ten times hotter. Greyson was messy and loud, slurping and sucking and spitting, every noise connected to a distinct memory Remus had of him. He wanted him. He also wanted her. But he also wanted him. But he also wanted _her._

He self-projected himself on her. Tried to put himself in this sunset pink girl’s position. Imagined standing between two beautiful monsters who pleasured her pretty pink pussy like their lives depended on it. How would he want it? 

Hard. Rough. Almost overwhelming. 

He heard her cry out as he upped his pace, sucking and licking and flicking her poor little clit. She throbbed against his tongue. Her thighs shook. Squeezed on his face. Shit, he loved this. Her hands clung on hard to his scalp as she rocked her hips to his tongue, whining so sweetly for him, so innocently, so wonderfully. He forgot this feeling of euphoria, of _wanting_ someone so desperately. The weeks before were filled with horror and disgust and trauma, but now he was here, between the legs of a beautiful sunset pink girl, licking and sucking her cunt, with his cock straining and ready to cum. 

Hungrily, Remus rocked forward and pushed his face deeper into her sex, his hands snaking up to grab her waist possessively and pull her in. He could feel her twitch and throb against his tongue, and it was like her pink was getting redder and redder the harder and faster he licked. Her moans were delectable, breathy and whiny with a tinge of shock and fear. He wondered if this was her first time being pleasured like this. He wondered if he was the first to feast on her beautiful, delicious cunt. The thought made his eyes roll back and he kissed, worshiped, and made love to her pussy. He made sure she knew he loved his tongue against her folds; he made sure she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He wanted to spend the rest of his fucking life between her thighs, her strong hand pushing on the back of his head, growling at him to “suck it,” humping her hips against his weak mouth. 

At one point, this sunset pink girl turned deep red, and Remus knew she was close. He could feel it in his bones as her whines got even more delicious and frantic, hands losing strength, hips trembling underneath his fingertips. He could feel her heartbeat against his tongue, loud and pulsating, ramming against his lips, getting faster and faster. A hand slammed against the wall, keeping her afloat as her other hand grabbed hard at his scalp, so hard he knew hair teared, and she adjusted her position so one leg was over his shoulder and gripping on tight to him. In this angle, he could get more of her pussy and he tasted the rest of her religiously, fucking his tongue into her hole before going up again to abuse her cute little button. Moreover, with this new position she could rock her hips in tandem to his tongue, and they fell into a rhythm that left him dizzy as he felt her powerful thighs tense against him. She looked like god from above, so sexy and sensuous with her hips rolling like that, and he wondered what it would look like with her between his legs fucking him silly with those kind of thrusts, and his cock was oozing at the thought and his mouth was watering and filled with all her slick and he was light-headed and wanting to cum. 

But he was her bitch, and Remus knew she needed to cum first. So like the good little _kitten_ he was, he gave it his all slurping and sucking and fucking her dripping pussy, making sure her clit was the centre of attention, loving it, worshiping it, abusing it. 

Overwhelmed, she cried out one last time before her whole body crumpled on top of him and came on his tongue. For a moment, Remus was taken over by skin and slick and heat, until his head and back hit the wall and the girl kept cumming against his tongue. Her slick tasted like candy, her body trembling like a newborn chick. Unintentionally, she rutted against him, oversensitive, gasping, and shaking, smearing her cum up and past his lips, Remus closing his eyes as her sweet cunt soaked half his face. It felt good. It felt like he was hers and she made her mark. He wanted to be hers. He wanted to be her bitch. He wanted her cunt, her thighs, her breasts, her everything. She was a drug, and he needed more of it now. 

But she stepped back, heaving hard, gasping hard, trembling. Finally, Remus could breathe and he sucked in deep breaths, smelling her still, wanting her still, and needing her still. He trembled and wanted to crawl back between her legs, feeling safer between them, feeling safer than he ever has for the past month. His mind was spinning. He felt drunk. Intoxicated. Needy. Hungry. Horny. 

Then his body throbbed, trembled, shook and before he knew it, he was cumming. 

He hadn’t touched himself at all, but he was ejaculating on the floor like a rabid animal, whining out like a bitch in heat, jutting his hips forward, wanting his hips to connect to another body, wanting his lips on her cunt, wanting to be devoured whole. The feeling was overwhelming.

The feeling was addicting. 

 

Nora didn’t care that her moans were loud. 

Nora didn’t care that she screamed and thrashed and banged against the wall. She didn’t care. This pleasure was unapologetic. This pleasure was addicting. This pleasure was _hers._

Hungrily, she grabbed onto the head between her legs and rolled her hips to his tongue. Now that she wasn’t standing and sitting comfortably, she could push this man’s mouth possessively between her legs without worrying she was going to break his neck. It was rough, it was controlling and it was everything Nora wanted. It was what she craved. 

Snarling, she rolled her hips to the hot tongue on her cunt. Eagerly, he upped the pace on her clit, and she smiled in response, locking on with copper-bronze eyes, simmering with lust. All the eyes she’s seen before have been a deep brown, a charcoal, dark and unapologetic, almost dead in a way. But his eyes were simmering, boiling, and flickering like a flame. His eyes were like a forest fire, destructive, violent and animalistic. 

As she rode his tongue for the hundredth time this night (was it even night what time was it- there was no concept of time locked in this closet with no windows), her stare slid from copper-bronze to emerald. Her eyes trailed behind his eyes to his muscular back, up the delicate curves of his voluptuous ass to emerald eyes and blood red lips. Lips that kissed sweetly at the other one’s curves, and tongue that dove deep between the folds of his skin. Lips and tongue that had the other trembling and cumming on the floor already streaked with with sweat and spit. 

Emerald eyes would dart from dark, tanned skin to her black eyes, shimmering and simmering with that same fiery stare her other pet had. It was like they were carved from the same stone, glowing and burning like embers of a fire, of different hues of green and gold. His emerald eyes were certainly more striking than copper, rare and almost inhuman, as if the man devouring her pet was an alien. It was hypnotizing staring into his eyes, Nora entranced by its hue, realizing this was honestly the first time she’s seen green eyes before. And they were beautiful. 

Both of them were beautiful. 

Her copper-eyed boy and her emerald-eyed boy. 

Her Copper and Emerald. 

Copper and Emerald. 

Her hands ran through the copper-eyed boy’s sweaty hair. She tugged on his hair tight, hearing him whimper in surprise, and pushed his face into her sopping pussy. Her Copper, with sun-kissed skin and rippling muscles and surprising submission. 

Then her eyes settled on the emerald-eyed boy’s stare, unblinking and possessive. She glared at him and rolled her body to Copper’s tongue, letting him fuck her deeper, letting both of them hear him whimper and watch him rut. It was as if she was asserting dominance over Copper. It was as if she was facing down Emerald, who greedily slid his tongue between Copper’s cheeks and licked and spat on his asshole like what he did to her. The memory brought a shiver through her. The sight in front of her brought a shiver through her. They were fighting for Copper’s attention, Nora possessing his mouth and Emerald possessing his sweet hole. 

However, having both at once was too much for Copper. As Nora was reaching orgasm, Copper was as well with the help of his companion. His sharp tongue became docile and breathing became hard. Then a moan ripped from his throat, his face twisting in pain and pleasure, and he grabbed onto Nora’s waist tightly. His eyes fluttered and rolled to the back of his head, and his head rested on the inside of her thigh. He swore and cursed and trembled and shook. Nora glanced at Emerald and saw the wild expression he had. He looked possessed. He looked livid. Nora was enchanted. 

Then he was moving and Emerald was slamming his hands down on Copper’s back. His body seemed to only grow in size as he towered over his companion’s body, and Nora zoned in on his leaking red cock that grazed Copper’s sweet entrance. In one smooth motion, Emerald pushed inside of him and Copper screamed. It was like he was being electrocuted, writhing and shaking, a moan bursting from his lips, his body being thrusted forward as Emerald pounded his asshole. The noises were wet and sloppy, the squelch of his cock drowning Copper’s spit-covered insides forever burned into Nora’s memory. As Emerald rammed his cock into him, Copper crawled up Nora’s body to hold and cradle, his arms around her waist and cheeks pressed against her stomach, his hot breath on her skin making all the hairs on her neck stand up. She could feel Emerald’s thrust reverberate through Copper. It was cruel and passionate and ruthless. Emerald snarled and spat and fucked him like a rabid animal, and Copper melted at the violence, squeezing on his insides, milking him of all his cum.

Nora felt dizzy witnessing it all happen in front of her. This was the power of a man. 

Emerald, covered in shimmering sweat, grabbed Copper’s waist so hard he had bruises and pounded his thick, red cock into Copper’s sensitive insides. Copper cried out and came to the final act of Emerald jamming his cock against his prostate, drooling and crying and bucking against him like a bitch. 

This was the power of a man. 

Emerald pulled out, cum still squirting out of him, and dripped the rest of the semen on his back, marking him, possessing him. Copper visibly relaxed when the cum hit his skin, his legs going wide and breathing going even. He was docile now. Submissive. Sweet. _His._

This was the power of a man. 

Violence. Domination. Power. Nora stared at Emerald’s engorged cock, fascinated by it. With the snap of his hips, Copper was screaming. With the snap of his hips, Emerald was able to make Copper submit his whole being to him. Emerald was in control. Emerald had power. The power of a man. 

And Nora wanted it. 

 

Greyson was fucking him. 

Lying on his back, panting, screaming and crying, Remus was being fucked by Greyson. His partner. His best friend. His family. His midnight fantasy. 

His grip was bruising, and the snap of his hips were explosive. His cock was throbbing hard, long and brutal, sucking the air from Remus’ lungs every time the tip of his head pleasured that one sweet spot buried inside of him. His toes curled and eyes watered at the sensation. It felt so good. He felt so complete. 

It was like an itch had finally been scratched. This unbearable need, this _thirst,_ was quenched. The colours that violated him, that egged him on, that pleasured him, were gone, and Remus was just _existing._ No psychedelic dreams for him, just the raw reality that his partner was fucking his drugged up body, and he was loving every second of it. He stared up at the black ceiling in awe, gasping and shaking, his cock flopping up and down as Greyson pounded into his abused asshole, the wet squelching sounds echoing throughout the closet- he existed in this moment. This moment that felt like a wet dream. 

Then Greyson’s hands were slamming down on his neck and clutching hard. His grunts got more guttural and animalistic, and his pace was losing rhythm. Remus met his infatuated stare and felt like the universe stopped for a moment. 

Greyson’ eyes were such a beautiful emerald. 

Then he was ejaculating into him, coating his insides with his seed, impregnating him, making him absolutely his. Remus couldn’t breathe, his head throbbing from oxygen loss, blackness starting to splotch his vision. And yet the pain brought insurmountable pleasure that shivered through him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, pumping blood to his cock, making him harder and harder, heightening his senses to a ten. He felt _everything._ The cold floor. Greyson’s squirting cock. His hot breath. The stench of sex. The scent of roses. Greyson’s brutal hold on his neck. 

And just as Remus was going to pass out, Greyson’s hands were off his throat and back on his waist, pounding into him again, making him _scream._ His violent thrusts went straight to his prostate and reverberated through him. As he took his first breath, he was cumming again, the pleasure insurmountable and pain addicting. Relief flooded through him. He was oversensitive and spent, and it felt so good to be abused like this. 

He’s spent twenty years killing everything that made him feel. He’s spent years killing off his emotions and hiking up his pain tolerance. He’s spent years turning his body and mind into a mindless machine that didn’t think or feel, and just did what it was told without question. And after twenty years of being a dumb faithful hound for people that didn’t deserve his time and energy, hiked up on aphrodisiacs, drugs and adrenaline, he felt absolutely fucking _alive._ Tears streamed down his face. Cum dripped down his twitching cock. His legs trembled. Breaths stuttered. Blood pumped. And eyes were on Greyson. 

Greyson. 

_Greyson, Greyson, Greyson._

The stutter of his heart. The hands in his dreams. The cock between his legs. The lips he hungered. His partner. His half. His everything. 

Hastily, Remus grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into a crushing kiss. He kissed him with twenty years’ worth of passion. Spit, teeth, and blood- he didn’t care. He was parched of him. Intoxicated. Drunk. Giddy. 

And he seemed to kiss him with the same fury and fire Remus gave him. His mind spun. His body shivered.

And then they were pulling back from each other, gasping, trembling, and drunk. 

Slowly Greyson pulled out of him, Remus feeling every inch of him leave him until it was just him cum and spit that dripped out, his whole body deflating, feeling empty and weak. He was spent, body lying limp against the floor, just letting the cum gush from his slutty little hole. He was done. He was ready to fucking _die._

However, Greyson had other plans. 

Suddenly, he was on his lap and positioning Remus’ cock between his legs. Crying out, Greyson shoved him into him, Remus’ eyes rolling back and body tensing painfully as a new sensation took over him entirely. He’s forgotten how fucking overwhelming Greyson’s insides were. How hot he was, how he throbbed and twitched against his spent cock, how sensuous the rolls of his hips were. It was so much. It was too much. Remus was clutching him hard and ejaculating already with just one roll of Greyson’s hips. He was sobbing. It felt so good. It hurt so much. Remus desperately wanted to pound Greyson’s pink little pussy, but his body felt like concrete and his dick burned with oversensitivity. But he _desperately_ wanted to pleasure him, knowing that this moment was going to be the last time Remus will ever have to shove his cock into Greyson’s insides. He wanted to drown him in his cum. He wanted to fucking breed him to be his. He wanted everything wretched and sinful and ungodly. 

And yet, he shivered like a fucking lamb, weak and teary-eyed, unable to pleasure Greyson without wanting to cry out even more. 

Greyson rode him slowly, clenching hard on Remus’ limp cock, unfazed by the situation. He looked delirious, this smile on his pretty pale face that made his heart skip a beat. He bounced on his dick, Remus whining as it felt so good and nice and yet so painful at the same time. 

But then from the darkness came a hand and then lips and _Nora_ was beside him, beside both of them, her eyes half-lidded and lips finding Greyson’s. 

Greyson stilled on top of Remus, his body throbbing and squeezing against his cock, and Remus watched in awe as Nora fully overrode the situation once again. This mystery girl that smelled of sweet gardens and tasted of fruits had the lips of a viper and hands of a succubus. Greyson melted to her taste, trembling now, and crumpled in on himself when Nora greedily pinched at his nipples, tugging on his piercings. 

And then she was biting hard on Greyson’s lip, too hard, so hard to draw blood again that dripped down his chin and onto Remus’ chest. Greyson cried out, shaking, confused and hurt, pulling back, holding his bloodied lip, while Nora licked her red lips, smiling at him, eyes twinkling mayhem. Weakly, Remus got up, Greyson shifting around to account the change, wrapping his legs around his waist, and glanced at him in shock. Nora glanced at Remus as well, keeping her eyes on him as she leaned in to lick and kiss at Greyson’s wounds, cleaning his chin and lip. 

Remus shivered. 

It was…erotic. Deathly, twistedly erotic. Greyson’s expression melted from shock to euphoria the more Nora kissed him, letting her lick the blood off his chin. Before he knew it, Remus was leaning in too, kissing Nora, tasting Greyson’s blood on her tongue, his mind going a mile a minute. He was kissing her and then he was kissing Greyson, licking fresh blood from the wound, feeling like he was healing him, feeling like he was making him his, Greyson putty in his hands. Then Greyson was biting Remus’ lip harder and harder and then Nora’s lips were on his neck and she was biting harder and harder and he felt his skin break and there was blood everywhere. Both of them lapped him up, tasting him, loving him, worshiping him. This was their pact. Their promise. And Remus was loving every visceral second of it. He was alive, feeling pain, feeling obsession, feeling tired and weak and whole once again. 

 

Emerald pushed Copper back down onto the floor again and grabbed Nora and pulled her into his lap. His hands grabbed at her ass, stretching her open, and she shivered at the cold air that hit her dripping pussy. Her mind spun and hands shook as adrenaline flooded her veins, her movements harsh and grating, violent and tough. Eagerly, she was in Emerald’s lap, her legs spitting open, her pussy pressing against the tip of Emerald’s cock, the boy’s eyes fluttering and mouth gaping open at the sudden sensation. He was hot against her entrance, and her heart thudded painfully against her chest. For a moment, she thought about slamming him into her, Nora bouncing on his long dick, Nora bouncing like a cute little bunny like Emerald on Copper’s spent and limp cock before, but then Emerald was grabbing her waist and growling and snarling and his dick was pushing deeper into her and suddenly dread filled her veins. 

She’ll have a child if she does this. 

She’ll be a mother if she does this. 

She’ll have done everything her mother wanted her to do. 

Provide a heir. Provide a heir. _Provide a heir._

_That’s all your worth._

_Why weren’t you a man?_

Nora remembered the way Copper screamed as Emerald pounding into his cum-filled hole. 

The power of a man. 

_Provide a child._

_Provide a son._

_Stupid woman._

Why weren’t you a man?

_Do what you’re supposed to do._

_Open your legs._

_Provide a heir._

_Pleasure him._

_Provide a heir._

_Penetrate. Impregnate, stupid woman._

No. 

No, no, no.

“NO!” She cried out. Tears were dripping down her face. 

She didn’t want a child. She was a child. 

She didn’t want to provide a heir. She wanted this family dead. 

She didn’t want to be a woman, if that meant to be penetrated. To bare children. To be a mother (a monster). 

She wanted the power of a man. The penetrator. To pleasure. To please. To dominate. 

No children. Not for her mother. 

Her hands were pushing on Emerald’s chest and she was scrambling off him. She watched the way his cock twitched, how it bounced in response to her rejection, how it oozed cum, seeds to _impregnate_ her. Emerald looked hurt, his lip still bleeding, his mouth gaped open and chest heaving. He wanted her. She wanted him. Copper was looking at her too, hazy-eyed, lip bitten, neck bitten, overspent and drunk. He wanted her. She wanted him. 

_“NORA!”_

Suddenly, hands were banging the door, shaking the walls around them. Cyrus cried out her name again, furious and horrified, ready for blood. He would leave no survivors. He would kill her kittens. 

Copper and Emerald jumped at Cyrus’ voice and Nora quickly grabbed them, hugging them, placing their heads against her chest, protecting them from the thundering door. 

Painfully, she fell from heaven, her mind splattered guts on the floor. 

_“NORA, GET OUT NOW!!”_

_“NORA, STOP THIS!”_

“ _ENOUGH NORA, I’M FINISHED WAITING!”_

Cyrus roared. He smashed against the door. 

Then there was another voice. 

_“Nora! Get out, stop being like this! You ungrateful child! You whore!”_

Mother. 

She didn’t want to be a mother because of her mother. 

Nora’s hands were shaking. Copper and Emerald noticed. Their arms were around her waist. Copper was looking up at her, eyes big and curious, face flushed, lips parted. He kissed her. Grabbed her neck and held her face in his hands and kissed her. Emerald bit and licked her ears. Copper joined. She couldn’t hear Cyrus and mother screaming anymore, just the soft pants and wet licks coming from her two sweet pets. She got goosebumps. It felt good. Electrifying. She was trembling. She was dripping wet. Emerald slid his fingers between her legs and brought it up to Copper’s lips. He cleaned his finger’s dry. Nora only got wetter. Infatuated. Wanting to widen her legs open for them. And she did. 

If she just let them impregnate her, then her mother won’t let Cyrus kill them. If she bears their children, they’ll be safe. 

Emerald kissed her, snaking his way in front of her, towering above her, both of them on their knees, rocking back and forth, weak and intoxicated and willing. His cock pressed against her and she shivered- afraid, excited, curious, horrified. It had a heartbeat. It moved like a snake, sliding between her legs, against her slippery sex, and angled to her entrance. 

Her body convulsed and she felt like vomiting as it tried to penetrate her. It felt like she was dying, bile rising up her throat. She was crying and shaking her head and begging, “no” again and again and again. 

_“It’s ok,”_ Emerald said suddenly. Nora stilled and looked up at him in shock. He was smiling down at her, his eyes clear for once, his skin glittering, his lips so red and face so relaxed. He was so handsome. So sure of himself. So striking. So beautiful. 

He let his cock slip past her entrance, thrusting until their skin was flush against each other, and then kissed her. 

_“Close your legs,”_ he growled. _“Squeeze my cock.”_

Nora got shivers from his voice. This had to be the first time he’s ever spoken to her. This _was_ the first time he’s been comprehensible. 

And she followed his orders. She closed her legs and slowly he began to pull his cock slowly out between her legs again before thrusting in once more. His cock rubbed wonderfully against her dripping pussy, never penetrating it, but letting the tip of his head lick her like a tongue, smearing his precum against the insides of her thighs and her sweet, throbbing vulva. The sensation was visceral, unreal, and wholly new. It was dangerous. It was safe. It felt good. It was _erotic._ Her heart and body raced as he thrusted in and out between her thighs, her body screaming in horror, afraid of him penetrating her, muscles flexing and tensing and spasming. Yet, he never did, and moreover loving the sensation, the slick, the heat, the wet, between her legs more than anything, whining out, groaning, whimpering, fucking her thighs in a gentler pace than how he treated Copper. His hands wrapped around her and his lips crushed against her. 

_“Yes, yes, yes,”_ Emerald whined out, going a little faster. Nora watched him as he cried out for her. He was like the women in the videos she’s seen, blissed out, intoxicated and _submissive_ to her. There was this look in his eyes that told her that she was in charge, and she could do anything to his cock and he’d let her do it. His voice was sweet, and kiss was even sweeter. 

And then Copper was behind her. 

His hands wrapped around her waist, and cock slid up and down her back. Precum caked her lower back before dripping down between her asscheeks and meeting Emerald’s throbbing cock. Copper invited himself below Emerald, cock flush against cock flush against pussy, and began thrusting in tandem with the other. It felt lighting hit her. Nora was flanked by two beautiful, intoxicated men, pleasuring themselves in the comfort of her hot, wet inner thighs, and it felt _amazing._ It felt amazing to feel needed, to be needed, to be used by men that belonged to _her._ They fucked her inner thighs, moaning and groaning and crying out, throbbing painfully against her, drenching her legs in their precum and mixing in with the slick that oozed out of her. 

_“Good boys,”_ she panted out. Emerald thrusted at the most perfect angle that had his cock sliding right against her clit. She moaned out, smiling to herself, giddy. Her legs were shaking. This felt good. _This felt good._

Perfect. 

_“Good boys,”_ she whined out a little louder. Emerald was kissing her and Copper was grunting hard against her ear before slipping down to her shoulder. They clutched her waist a little harder. She liked the pain. The resistance. The build up. 

They were close. 

_“Good boys, my boys, my kittens,”_ Nora panted gleefully, deliriously turned on. She rolled her hips and rubbed her clit a little harder against Emerald’s twitching dick. Her head pounded. Her pussy throbbed. _“Faster. Harder, baby.”_

Emerald snarled and grunted, slamming against her thighs, making a wet slapping sound that shook the house. Copper joined in, both their thrusts monstrous and powerful, pleasurable against her oversensitive and wet pussy, driving her over the edge where she was clutching hard on both Copper and Emerald’s heads, both boys whining out as she pulled their hair, which pushed them over the edge, their cocks pulsating between her thighs, their growls loud and guttural, and hot cum squirting all over the place. Nora clenched up in response, only making it harder on both boys, them crying out as she trembled and squeezed tighter. Their cum was hot, blindingly hot, scorching hot, against her skin. She felt it drip down her legs, and she felt absolute bliss. 

_“Good boys,”_ she growled out, finally letting go of their hair and running her fingers through it. 

 

_“Yes! Yes! Yes!”_

_“NORA! GET OUT OF THERE IMMEDIATELY!”_

Cyrus snarled and banged the door harder. He was shouting at the top of his lungs. He could hear the sickeningly loud slaps of skin against skin and Nora’s distinct sweet moan he’s heard time and time again under sheets at midnight. 

His stomach swirled as she moaned particularly loud. 

_“NORA!”_ He screamed. He punched the door with all his might, breaking a dent in the old wood. He was starting to see red. He couldn’t listen to it anymore. He was going to kill those two. He was going to kill them and then take Nora as his and fucking make her his wife and fuck her and never stop fucking her. 

He punched the door again. There was a loud cry. Alien. High-pitched. Feminine. Nora’s. 

A cry he’s never heard before. 

_“Good boys!”_ She cried out. She was screaming. She was screaming in pleasure. 

There were grunts. Growls. Snarls. It was like she was being violated by dogs. She _was_ being violated by dogs. Those weren’t boys. They were animals. Whores. _Bitches._

_“Good boys! My boys, my kittens!”_ She screamed, almost laughing. _“Faster! Harder, baby!”_

She sounded like a slut, begging for more. Cyrus’ blood rushed downward. He was breathing hard. Before he knew it, he was pressed against the door, listening. 

“She sounds like a bitch in heat,” Nora’s mother said suddenly. Cyrus didn’t even notice her approach the door as well. “At least she’s conceiving a child.”

Cyrus was shaking. He could see Nora now, bouncing on one of those whore’s dirty cocks, her sensuous body rolling against them, her breasts bouncing, her face twisted in a delicious smile. He wanted to be the cock inside her, pounding her so hard she loved it, impregnating her, making her _his._

And then he wasn’t; the cock and the wet slapping sounds got more vicious and frequent and _faster._ Nora was gasping for air and whining. There were two distinct sets of rabid growling and snarling. And then screaming. And then crying out like the whores they were, and Nora was sobbing and gasping and hiccuping and Cyrus’ blood ran cold. 

“I think the deed is done,” Nora’s mother commented. She seemed unfazed. Almost a little curious. And Cyrus wanted to snap her neck. 

Instead, he backed away from the door and rushed at it. He heard the wood crack. He didn’t care his shoulder screamed in pain. He rushed at it again. The door concaved. 

A third time’s a charm. 

He smashed the door completely, the splintered piece of wood smashing to the ground as well as him. Golden light pierced through the inky darkness of the closet and hit three distinct, sweaty bodies. 

Cyrus wanted to vomit. 

The whores with copper and emerald eyes looked at him. They had their arms around Nora, arms he wanted to snap in half, and hips pressed against her torso, hips he wanted to rip apart. And then Cyrus saw their lips, split open with blood crusting and drying on their chins. A sign that they were Nora’s. Animalistic. Possessive. Erotic. Disgustingly, terrifyingly erotic. Their bodies were covered in scratch marks and bite marks, blood and red caking their skin like a virus, every patch of skin a sign from Nora that these whores were hers. 

They did something to her. It wasn’t in Nora’s nature to bite and mark. She was sweet and innocent and naive and _perfect._ This was ugly. Disgusting. _Horrendous._

_They made her like this._

Stuck their dirty little cocks in her and made her their slut. 

Violated her. 

_Impregnated her._

Cyrus rushed at them and instantly Nora whipped her face around to stare him straight in the eye. 

Her deep olive skin contrasted starkly against snow white and sun-kissed tan. 

He stilled.

“Don’t even dare,” she growled, her voice wholly alien to him. It was deep. It was murderous. 

Slowly and sensuous like a snake, she got up and stepped out of the two whores’ embrace. She was naked. She looked beautiful naked. But like her sluts, she was marked. Bitten. Scratched at. Possessed. Not perfect. 

Cum dripped down her dark pussy. Cyrus felt bile rise up his throat and he swallowed it down slowly. His eyes bore holes into her legs, watching so much of the whores’ seed drip down the insides of her thighs. Her sex and legs were caked of it. 

She was theirs. 

_Not his._

Cyrus couldn’t see anything but red and he lunged at the whores. 

_“Cyrus,”_ Nora’s mother declared loudly. A hand was on the back of his throat and he felt a knife dig into his spine. “You touch my daughter’s playthings and I will kill you myself. The deed is done. She will have a child.” 

Cyrus was panting hard. His mind was spinning. But red started to recede from him vision the harder the tip of Nora’s mother’s blade dug into his skin. Only when he relaxed and dropped his shaking hands did she pull away the blade, a blade he’s never seen before but now knows exists. All his energy left him and he felt to the floor, in front of beautiful Nora. 

“Who’s the father,” her mother asked sternly. 

Nora blinked and slowly looked down between her legs as if she didn’t even know they had impregnated her. Her fingers slid down and touched the cum between her legs. Cyrus’ throat went dry. 

“This is…from both of them,” she muttered softly. 

Her mother laughed. “You had both of them inside you?”

She looked a little shocked, but nodded in agreement. 

“They are mine, I will use them both,” she said a little louder. 

“Very well, they will be yours. They will provide us with a son,” she replied. “I’ll get the paperwork and preparations done. You may go back up to your room. What are their names?”

Nora stared straight at her mother, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes u gotta just chuck stuff out into the world and forget about the consequences   
> don't quote me on that


	3. Gleaming Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> References to Rape/Dubious Consent/Non-consensual Touching

The window was open. 

The window was open and poured in golden light, shining through the thin satin curtains that danced in the lazy wind, and onto the bodies that rested on wrinkled pastel covers and fluffy rose pillows. The lazy breeze brought the sound of waves that echoed through the large bedroom, and little wind chimes hanging from the windows rang and clanged softly in response. The gentle singing of the chimes woke up the naked, pale, porcelain-like body that hung off the edge of the bed, his muscles bunching up and relaxing before he fluttered his emerald eyes open. He clenched and unclenched his fists, sighing softly out of his mouth, and slowly got up. His body ached. His body throbbed. He twisted his hips and paused immediately, feeling warmth drip out of him, and he looked down at himself. 

A shiver ran through him. 

He’s seen his body in worse shape. He’s gone through fires, he’s faced firefights, he’s been tortured. He’s ripped himself bit by bit and stitched himself back together. He’s faced death, and death had its way with him, but the body he looked down at right now was wholly alien to him. 

Bite marks, scratch marks, kiss marks. Marks of possession. Obsession. They littered his body like stars in the night sky. He felt…like a toy. A possession. These marks were to remind him of who he belonged to. He belonged to…

He glanced at the sleeping body further up the bed. Golden, bulky, beautiful. Remus slept soundlessly on the velvet pillows. His legs were spread, and Greyson’s throat went dry staring at the man’s ass, seeing the same obsessive marks, and the cum that trickled ever so slowly out of his reddened hole. That cum was _his. Greyson’s._

Greyson’s mark of obsession. 

He shifted on the bed and felt his ass leak as well. Spreading his legs, he saw the white, sticky residue, and his heart thundered against his chest. In him was Remus. Remus’ seed was _in him._

He gasped shakily, and felt his body react. He felt his blood boil, his heart quicken, his breaths shorten. 

He was so turned on. 

Infatuated with that fact. Lusting. Hungering. Obsessing. 

Instinctively, he got off the bed, feeling the weight of the world slam down on him, his legs weak and body heavy. Cum dribbled down his legs, and he shivered at the loss of heat, trying to keep himself upright by clutching hard onto the bed frame. For a moment, he stood standing, clenching his ass, feeling the cum leave him, trying to remember the events that took place. How long have they been going at it? What day was it? Where was he? Where was the girl?

He was breathless for a moment, remembering her. _Her,_ with her deep olive skin and big marble eyes. _Her_ , with her soft breasts and gentle curves. _Her,_ with her sweet sex and even sweeter blood. 

Her, his master. 

His heart thudded even more painfully against his chest. He knew of his mission. But he also knew of his fantasies and nightmares that seemed to bleed together. His dreams that had him screaming in terror as well as moaning in delight. 

She was the perfect balance of a terrifying fantasy. Remus was his beautiful nightmare. They seemed to fit so well. 

Shakily, he padded over to the nearest mirror, beside the bed, mustering up the courage to look at himself. And when he did, once again he saw a stranger. He’s gone through fires, firefights, torture. But the man he saw stare back at him looked completely different. Sunken, dark eyes. Pale complexion. Malnourished. Marked. _Possessed._ And most notably, with a thin golden choker around his neck. He touched it slowly, cool to the touch, and felt engravings on it. He looked for the hatch to pick it off, but it was confusingly smooth all over. 

His mind worked slow, and his brain raked at ideas what this could mean. But before he could think of anything, the wooden floor boards behind him creaked and he tried to swirl around quickly, but was only trapped by a short, soft torso, breasts pressing against his back, and hands snaking up his waist and fingers teasing his swollen, pierced nipples. 

Immediately, he crumpled against the desk, pressing both hands hard on the cool surface, trying to keep himself upright. 

_“Kitten,”_ she spoke so softly. So sweetly. So seductively. Her lips were against his ear and he melted at her husky voice as if he was trained to fall to his knees by her command. _“It’s good to see you up.”_

He shivered and sucked in a shaky breath. She chuckled and kissed the back of his neck, his whole being trembling at her lips, crumpling further and further onto the desk. His body was betraying him. He should be able to get himself out of this situation. If he was sane, he’d spin around and push her away. If he was trained properly, he’d spin around and snap her neck. 

But he was a bad dog. He was the problem child with a pretty face of the academy. The slut. The whore. 

Why?

Because he succumbed to pleasure from his teammate. Because he succumbed to pleasure from a former teacher. Because he succumbed to pleasure from several targets. 

He opened his legs to anyone to fill the void punctured out from Remus. 

But…this time it was different. 

Greyson had control those times. He knew what he was getting into. He knew it was wrong and embraced it anyways. 

But this woman touching him, kissing him- it felt wholly natural. His body moved on instinct, shaking and trembling on queue, lowering all his defences the moment her fingers touched his skin. What was happening was _right._

And that was terrifying. 

How much time has passed?

How much time has passed for his body to react so viscerally to her touch? She trained him to react this way. She trained his body to tremble at her touch, to drip and squirt at her kiss. He was short of breath, mind going blank as she teased his swollen nipples and feasted on the nape of his neck and down his back. 

_“Good boy,”_ she purred. Greyson actually whimpered at the praise. Blood rushed down to his cock, stirring awake, throbbing and twitching the more she tugged and pulled at his nipple piercings. It felt good. His swollen buttons were overstimulated and oversensitive, but it felt so fucking good. Pain and pleasure. His terrifying fantasy. 

“I was out for a bit, sorry,” she said softer. “Looking for better chokers than the replacements you’re wearing right now.” 

Her tongue licked up his neck and against the golden choker. Greyson jolted violently, pushing the desk hard with a loud thud. The girl only chuckled in response, rubbing a little harder on his nipples, making him cry out silently, drool dripping down his chin. She kept at it longer than expected, him gasping and panting, her fingers pressing hard on his highly sensitive buttons, the pain and pleasure humming through him like electricity. He tried to lean away from her hands, but she only stuck closer to him, scrubbing his nipples harder and harder until he stopped fighting and submitted to her completely. 

(He loved it.) 

(Her dominance.) 

(His submission.) 

“Mother tells me I need to make sure you both have chokers with the family crest on it to protect you in public,” she spoke gently. “You both are beautiful, and I need to mark you as _mine.”_

_(Yes, yes, yes)_

Greyson choked down a whine. Suddenly, the girl was sucking in a deep breath and her hips pressed hard against his, pushing him against the desk, her hips rolling sensually against his spanked ass. It felt good. It felt familiar. 

(It felt _right.)_

She pinched hard at his nipples and tugged even harder, Greyson letting the scream that’s been building in him out, shaking and straightening up his posture, slotting himself perfectly against her hips. She dry-humped against him, and it felt so good, it felt so familiar, it felt so right. 

“I was thinking about replacing these,” she whispered softly, tugging hard on his piercings. “With rings. And connected to those rings, chains, which connect to your new collar. _One little tug and you’re like this all over again.”_

One hand left his nipples and slid down his hips. His eyes snapped open and his whole body clenched as she tried to slide past his cheeks to his wrecked hole. He was even more oversensitive down there, more wrecked, more used, more _everything._

_“Don’t be afraid, baby,”_ she purred. 

(I’m not afraid. I want it.) 

He needs to focus on the mission. 

_(I want it.)_

The tension in his legs loosened. His ass unclenched. His cock throbbed. 

She plunged her fingers into him, as if they’ve done this a million times before. Maybe they have. Maybe this is their first time. 

Greyson’s arms gave out and he collapsed against the desk. Her fingers in him felt _good._

_Heavenly. Sinful. Godly._

Her fingers were the fingers of his fantasies. They stretched him out like he was gum, making his legs go limp and lips scream. He felt more of Remus’ cum drip out of him. He also felt more of it plunge into him as the girl finger-fucked him good. She knew how to fuck him. How to pleasure him. How to worship him. She fucked him so good, so fast, so hard, so violently, it left him in tears. She knew his body. She knew his secrets. 

And he wanted all of it so badly. 

The mission, the danger, the urgency was slipping from him again. He just let the sun pool onto his sweaty skin and spread his legs a little wider for his master to finger-fuck him to oblivion. 

 

Remus remembered candle light. 

He remembered the high humidity and the chirping of crickets in the night. 

He remembered the squelching and slapping.

He remembered the candle light turning her body red in the night. Her eyes were still dark marbles, taking in the sight of him, full of so much life and curiosity, they reminded him of a cat’s. Her hair stuck to her sweaty skin, lining every curve and valley of her body, Remus remembering how her hair curled around her swaying breasts. 

He remembered dipping his eyes below her breasts to her stomach and navel, watching how her hips rolled and gyrated, going lower and lower to her dripping pussy that shimmered in the candle light. 

He remembered Greyson’s tongue on her sex, and the pants he made between her legs. The slurping. The sucking. The moaning. 

Remus remembered candle light. It casted over Nora’s body, turning her olive body red. It also casted over Greyson’s pale body, turning him yellow. Remus remembered Greyson’s yellow body between his legs. 

He remembered moving. He remembered the burn of his thighs, the bob of his cock, the slick between his legs. 

He remembered Greyson’s cock sliding in and out of Remus’ stretched out, abused asshole, and he remembered vividly bouncing on that cock like a slut, wanting him, pleasuring him, sucking him all into him to make him his. He remembered his long cock pounding his insides, striking his sweetest spot, and squirting his seed right into his stomach. Remus remembered never stopping, always pushing through the pain- the overstimulation, the oversensitivity- and riding on that dick again and again, unable to stop himself, feeling a smile tug on his lips, finally reliving the fantasies he’s wanted ever since he was fourteen. 

Remus remembered candle light in the middle of a humid night, when Nora pleasured herself with Greyson’s tongue, while Remus rode his partner like the whore he fantasized to be. 

 

 

Cyrus found Nora pinning Emerald to the dinner table, four fingers up his ass and chocolate drizzled onto his chest. Emerald cried like a cat in heat, his body trembling for more, hungering for more, clutching onto Nora as a silent beg for _more._

_“Nora,”_ the bodyguard interrupted, avoiding looking at her. “Your packages have arrived.”

Nora blinked at him slowly before turning back to her kitten and licking up the chocolate on his nipples. Emerald whined spectacularly for her, shaking and grinding his hips lower into her fingers. She purred and peppered kisses up his neck to his lips, where she spat her chocolate-flavoured saliva into his mouth. Greedily, Emerald lapped it up, clenching even harder onto her fingers and cock drooling even a bit more between his legs. 

She smiled and kissed his forehead before turning to Cyrus. 

“Leave them in front of my bedroom door. I need to finish feeding him,” she ordered. Cyrus dipped his head and walked away. For a moment, Nora watched him leave, seeing the tenseness in his shoulders and his fists curl up. Even though he seemed calm and collected on the outside, unbridled rage seeped through the cracks.

Nora couldn’t do anything about it though. She could. She could do a lot of things. 

But Emerald was kissing her neck and she had forgotten what she was thinking again.

 

For the first time, Remus had control. 

He woke up in a sweat, dizzy and confused, and _parched._ Everywhere he looked was foreign. Pastels, velvets, satin, silk. He saw the pitcher of water and glass on the desk. Grabbed both and chugged both down in an instant. It was sweet. Sweeter than any wine or champagne he’s had in a while. It was cold too, and it shocked his senses immediately. His brain was starting to come back online, rebooting itself after a long, long virus that left him reeling. 

He was in a bedroom. A big one. A woman’s room, and from the decorations or lack thereof, a woman beyond her teenage years. She had a piano in front of a balcony that let in humid air and the sound of the ocean. Tropical. He was somewhere tropical. And from the piano and silks and velvets around him, he was in a wealthy house near the sea. 

When he got up, he felt his chest tighten and immediately glanced down. Wrapped around his neck was a leather choker with a ring in the middle. Below it was a simple, light leather harness. He looked like a porn star from a leather fetish video.

Instantly, he looked around for any weapons. 

There were clothes littered about, empty glasses of water, condom wrappers, lube, lingerie and tissues. There was a switchblade on the table across the large bedroom, and beside what Remus presumed a bathroom. His body tensed and his first instinct was to grab it, but just as he moved off the bed, he heard a giggle. 

Soft, feminine. Familiar. 

His heart thudded against his chest. 

It came from the crack of the door leading into the bathroom. Near the switchblade. 

Remus got up. Felt his whole body scream in pain, felt something drip down his legs, felt shame wash over him like an icy wave. But he pushed forward one step at a time, killing his emotions again, murdering the human in him until he was a hollow shell again as he picked up the knife. 

Slowly, he approached the bathroom door. He calmed his thundering heartbeat, remembering the procedures, the headspace, the cold hollowness that washed over him whenever he held a blade. He ignored the sweet, familiar smells that wafted out of the bathroom. He ignored the gentle giggle that echoed off the tiled floors. He ignored everything, killed every sensation, tried to bring himself to that sea of red that always plagued his mind at night. 

He opened the door. 

Nora was kneeling on the tiled floor, between Greyson’s legs. 

Greyson was on the toilet, staring down at her, face flushed pink, green eyes hazy and playful. 

Nora’s tongue was on his rose-coloured cock, slick with saliva and precum, twitching and throbbing. Her eyes were big and beautiful, and she only wore a white silk robe, her soft breasts exposed, dark nipples perked and hard. 

Greyson had a golden choker on with an emerald pendant in the middle. His nipple piercings were golden rings that had little chains attached to it that attached back to the chocker. His skin was bitten and marked to hell. 

Both of them were smiling up at each other. 

And then staring at him. 

Nora’s playful smile dropped. Greyson’s got even wider. Wilder. 

“Copper,” she said softly. 

Remus’ body reacted to the name, stirring emotion in him again like a hurricane. He gripped the switchblade even tighter. 

Kill your emotions. 

Don’t think. 

Just do it. 

Greyson was smiling at him. He wasn’t even looking at the knife. He was looking at _him_ , naked, hard, _sexy._

Nora stood up. 

Remus felt dread consume him. This has never happened before. He was short of breath. His mind was spinning. His muscles tensed as she slowly approached him like a lioness, elegant, graceful, beautiful, never breaking eye-contact. She didn’t seem to notice he was holding a blade as well. But she knew. She had to.

_“Kitten,”_ she said softly. Remus’ sucked in a shaky breath. A shiver ran through him. 

Slowly, her index finger hooked around the copper ring of his choker. 

Fearlessly, she tugged on it hard, bringing their lips together, Remus’ eyes widening in horror, dread filling his veins. She kissed him gently, her tongue tasting sweet and familiar and _safe._ The dread in him melted to confusion that melted into pleasure. He gasped shakily. His body remembered this taste. His body remembered her lips, her smell, her hands. 

She’s touched him. Violated him. Pleasured him. 

She’s licked his body from head to toe. She’s swallowed his spit, his tears, his sweat, his blood, his seed. She’s ran her fingers up and down his skin, in and out of his mouth, deep and even deeper between his legs. She’s made him scream. She’s made him cum. She’s broken him. Broken him beyond repair. His steel mind shattered like glass, splintering, cutting up his brain. He wasn’t a mindless robot anymore. He wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He was _hers._

The leather and rings adorning him made him hers. The kiss she stole from him made him hers. The visceral body reaction from just one word made him hers. The fact that he didn’t stab her the moment she stepped forward made him hers. 

He was her pet. 

_“Kitten.”_

She was the neon colours he saw behind his eyelids. She was his nightmares. She was his subconscious with its sinful, dangerous desires. She was the body he wanted all these years to hold him. To make him feel human. 

Remus kissed back. 

God, he kissed her. He was kissing her. He _kissed her._

And she took all of him, his violence, his danger, his anger. Her hand slipped through the fingers clenching the knife and took it away from him. Placed it on the counter with a clink, and brought that very hand up to brush the hair out of his eyes. Gentle. 

She pulled back, Remus leaning forward, still wanting more, tugging on her lip, gasping for air. She smiled and licked a wound he didn’t know he had on his lip, and he could feel the fantom sensation of teeth biting down. A tingle ran through him. 

Then Greyson was off the toilet seat and prowling forward as well. He looked gorgeous with the golden body jewelry, and he tasted gorgeous against his tongue. No booze or drugs. Just mint, cool and calming, and absolutely fucking perfect. 

Remus moaned into his mouth. His hands automatically wrapped around his waist and he tugged him close, parched off him, his shattered, splintered mind coming back together one last time. 

He was kissing his partner. 

Again. 

Against protocol. 

Greyson was kissing him back. Smiling at him. Purring. Loving him. 

Remus choked when Greyson grabbed all of his cock. His body reacted. Legs trembled. Body almost dropped. He wasn’t the trained killer he was born to be. He was a little lamb, weak, and prey for Greyson to wholly manipulate. 

Greyson has tried to make moves on Remus before. Many times in the academy. Begged for him. Made deals with the Devil to be with him. But Remus never obliged. Remus never said yes. He wanted to, but he never said yes. Because the academy was the only thing he had and if they kicked him out he was nothing. No one. Just another poor boy on the street. 

But he wasn’t sixteen anymore. He was twenty-three. A killer. A murderer. A robot. A weapon. 

He grew up being the nobody he didn’t want to be. 

And in this moment, he didn’t want to keep being that nobody. He wanted to be somebody. He wanted to be theirs. 

Greyson’s lover. Nora’s pet.

Maybe for a little while, he can be just that. 

 

_“Yes, yes, yes!”_ Greyson cried out loud. Tears dripped down his face. _“Yes, baby, yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you.”_

Remus grunted below him, face twisted in shame, in lust, in agony, as Greyson rode his cock. His hands were high above him, laced with his partner’s and clutching on tight. His tanned body rolled in tandem with Greyson, hips snapping just right to pound his cock straight into his prostate. The noises their bodies made were obscene, the squelching of Greyson’s asshole stuffed with Remus’ cock and cum loud and explicit and filled the hot and sweaty air. 

_“You’re so good, baby, I love it, I love it, I love it,”_ Greyson sputtered out, delirious on Remus’ cock. He needed this. He needed this heat, this cum, this man in him. He couldn’t stop but spew out secret after secret he’s held back for this man. _“I love you, I love you, I love you. Pound into my cunt, baby, fuck me until I break. I-I’ve wanted you for so long.”_ He laughed a little. _“God, I love you, baby.”_

The drugs were still affecting him. But he knew what he was saying. 

Maybe he was using the drugs as an excuse for him to say the things he said. Maybe he used the fact that _Remus_ was still high on drugs as an excuse to spew secret after secret he’s had of him. He didn’t know, he was just so high and drunk and stimulated he was willing to tell any secret that came to mind. 

_“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,”_ Greyson cried out, curling forward, giving more control of his hips, able to jam his hips quicker and quicker up and down Remus’ long, thick cock. _“How many times I’ve jerked off to your underwear, how many times I’ve jerked off to your sleeping face. God, and now I’m here, your cock in m-me, f-fucking me.”_

Remus’ eyes rolled back and he snarled. Greyson’s heart fluttered even faster. 

_“Does it feel good, baby?”_ He whined sweetly. _“You, breeding me?”_

Remus’ eyes snapped open and he glared at him. Suddenly, he broke off their interlaced handhold and grabbed hard onto his waist. Before Greyson could react, Remus was pounding into him, and he was screaming. Remus grunted and snarled, his pace explosive and deep and it felt like he was fucking into Greyson’s stomach, going deep, _deep, deep,_ pounding his wrecked, stretched cunt, his prostate swollen and overstimulated, his cock squirting out the last of the cum in him. 

Greyson was delirious. 

_“Thank you, thank you, thank you,”_ he cried out, pressing his palms flat on Remus’ chest. Remus’ thrusts were so violent he was thrown forward, but his grip was so iron hard he never moved an inch. His asshole just took all the power, abused, stretched and filled to the brim of his partner’s seed. It felt so good Greyson was crying. 

_(Thank you for abusing me. Thank you for hurting me. Thank you for punishing me.)_

Then Remus was crying out as well, back curling, hips off the bed, and cock squirting hot cum deep, deep into Greyson. His partner took all of it, squeezing hard on his pulsating dick, rolling his hips in circles, milking him dry. 

Greyson was smiling. He was happy. 

Fulfilled. 

_“Good boys.”_

Nora purred. 

Greyson was shaking.

Immediately, he trembled. Remus, too, his thighs tensing and cock twitching inside of him. 

_“Such good kittens,”_ she added on. _“You did so well, baby.”_

Greyson gasped and body throbbed at her voice. She sounded like _sex._

_Desire._

Shelikeditshelikeditshelikedit. 

Greyson swallowed thickly and sat up straight, Nora’s fingernails dragging up his spine, making the hairs on his neck stand up tall. He let out a weak whimper. Slowly, he turned to the side to kiss her, his eyes running down her curvy body, pausing in the kiss the moment he saw the straps on her hips. His breathing quickened. His heart rammed against his chest. 

Nora wore a strap-on. 

Shivers ran through him. He felt Remus twitch inside of him, and he saw he was also staring down at Nora’s fake cock. 

_“Like what you see?”_ She growled. 

Greyson swallowed thickly once more and meekly nodded. 

(He wanted to be filled, cocks stuffing him, ripping him apart-) 

Nora smiled at him wide, cat-like in nature, dark eyes wild with lust. 

 

Emerald was sobbing. Copper was grunting. Both were moaning. 

And Nora just watched both of them writhe below her. 

Smiling. 

She watched Emerald’s hips tremble as Copper snapped up and Nora pushed forward. She watched his legs shiver when both Copper and Nora pushed in all the way, flush against Emerald’s body, the boy screaming in response. 

_“So tight, so tight,”_ he’d sob. _“Don’t stop, don’t stop.”_

Nora and Copper fucked Emerald. 

Nora moved her hips like Copper and shoved her fake cock into Emerald like Copper. She had studied his movements and mimicked them. Engrained the sight, the sensation, the actions into her being. She rolled, snapped, plunged, pounded. She made Emerald cry. It felt good. Her kitten liked it. 

She had the power of a man. 

To punish. To pleasure. To violate. 

To impregnate. 

The power of a man. 

Emerald cried out for it. 

The power of a man. 

Copper was it. 

The power of a man. 

Nora wanted it. 

 

The sun was setting. 

Remus stared out the window and saw the pink sunset glow behind the chiffon curtains. 

The sunset gave a pink hue to Nora’s bedroom. 

A pink hue to a blood red mood. 

Remus cried out. He clutched at the sheets. His legs trembled. Stomach clenched. Back curled. 

He felt like a bow being pulled, taut, close to snapping. 

Nora pounded into him again. 

He screamed. Thrashed his arms, snapped his back. It felt good. 

Good, good, good. 

Her cock was thick and long, going deeper and deeper into him, vibrating, trembling inside him, sliding against his overused prostate over and over and over again, so good to bring tears to his eyes. 

For being so small, so slim, her thrusts were powerful, animalistic, unbridled. There was hidden energy in her that decimated Greyson, who laid limp beside him, staring in awe of their master, and was breaking Remus bit by bit. Every snap of her hips broke off another piece of his old self and was replaced with the pet Nora desired. Bit by bit, Remus succumbed to the idea of being Nora’s _Copper._

Copper. 

Her toy, like the copper rings he was adorned with. Something to play with. 

Biting his lip, he stretched his legs wider and stared up at her, needy. Desperate. Perfect as her _Copper._

And she just chuckled and smiled back down at him- before placing her hands on his waist, clutching on tight, so tight her nails left crescents on his skin, and pounded deep, deep, _deep_ into him, making him wholly hers. 

 

After Copper was spent, Emerald stepped in. He bounced on Nora’s cock, he worshiped her cunt. He kissed her sweetly and called out her name. 

After Emerald was spent, Copper stepped in. He bounced on Nora’s cock, he worshiped her cunt. He kissed her sweetly and called out her name. 

After Copper was spent, Emerald stepped in. He bounced on Nora’s cock, he worshiped her cunt. He kissed her sweetly and called out her name. 

Nora wondered if she was on drugs.

 

Remus remembered candle light. 

He remembered the high humidity and the chirping of crickets in the night. 

He remembered the squelching and slapping.

Remus remembered candle light in the middle of a humid night, when Nora pleasured herself with Greyson’s tongue, while Remus rode his partner like the whore he fantasized to be. 

He also remembered eyes. 

Eyes that gleamed in the candle light. 

Nora was biting his neck, and he arched his back and threw his head back. He looked to the door. Cracked open. 

Eyes. 

Gleamed in the candle light. 

 

 

Nora sunk to the bottom of the pool. 

It was quiet and cool down here. It was a whole different world. A world that was quiet and gentle and perfect. 

No one could hurt her here. 

No one could talk to her, insult her, degrade her. 

No one could slap her, punch her, choke her. 

It was just silence, and the cool embrace of the water. 

Slowly, Nora opened her eyes and looked up to the surface. The light was distorted down here, making waves, white bending and twisting down to the bottom of the pool. 

Bubbles escaped her nose, and her hair swirled around her. 

She knew she had to retreat back to the surface. 

Everything that she loved was so dangerous. 

The ocean. 

Her boys. 

Freedom. 

More bubbles escaped and she knew her time was up. 

Sometimes she wonders what it would be like to drown. But it isn’t her time yet. 

If she dies, her boys will die. 

So living will have to do. 

Slowly, she resurfaced with a long gasp, sucking in the salty, humid air. It’s brighter up here, and she blinked rapidly as more oxygen flooded her system. 

“One more second and I would have dove in,” Cyrus said pointedly. He stood near the pool steps, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed and glare murderous. 

Nora took a few more gulps of air, glanced at him and sunk right back into the water. 

It’s safer down there because Cyrus can’t touch her. 

When Nora wasn’t in the bedroom, Cyrus was by her side. Even when she opted to making love to her kittens in the kitchen, in the living room, in the library, he was around. His eyes were always on her, staring, unnerving, terrifying. Her mother was sensible and was away for her honeymoon period. Cyrus had the option to leave as well. But he stayed, a ghost behind doors, the ears that heard the moans that poured out every night. 

Nora hugged herself as she sunk to the bottom again. 

She just wanted to be alone with Copper and Emerald. 

For a long time, Nora bobbed at the bottom of the pool. She made sure she was down there longer than before, just to spite her bodyguard-guardian before swimming to the opposite side of the pool from where he was. Her lungs burned as she burst through the surface, holding onto the tiled walls tight, and pushed back her long hair. She expected Cyrus to still be standing in the same spot by the steps, but he was nowhere to be found. 

Instantly, Nora was out of the water and running into the house. She slid across the marbled floors, heart thumping against her chest. 

He wouldn’t have gone up to her bedroom and killed them-

_“My apologies, but Nora isn’t open to speaking to anyone from your company,”_ Cyrus’ voice echoed through the halls. Quickly Nora slammed to a stop, confused now, less terrified. 

_“I just wanted to say hello. It’s not often that a woman of her magnitude would come to such an auction. I’m curious what she’s done to the boys she’s bought.”_

The voice was deeper, polite. Cyrus sounded impatient.

_“They’re getting along real well.”_

Cyrus was at the front door. Nora crept to a nearby window and peered out to see a sleek black car in the driveway. Definitely expensive.

_“The boys are doing well?”_

_“Very much so,”_ Cyrus snapped. _“If that’s all you wanted to know, then I think it’s time for you to leave.”_

Nora squinted at the car, noticing that all the windows were tinted. If she looked still enough, she swore she saw a figure move in the back seat.

_“Send my regards to her. Here’s my card for her as well, if she ever wanted to catch a coffee with me.”_

_“She won’t.”_

Then the door slammed. 

Nora stilled and watched a suited figure walk down the steps to the car. As he opened the door, he paused and looked up at the house. 

He looked straight at her, who was in between the blinds and hiding in the shadows, and smiled up at her. 

He looked dangerous. 

 

Remus woke up to piano music. The plinks and tings rang through the cool, salty air, dancing with the gentle hum of waves that crashed outside. The melody was gentle and soft, lulling him into a calm state of mind, tension melting from him, relaxing against Greyson’s chest. The song was gentle and soft, and somewhat sad and lonely too. It moved slow, washing over him like the waves outside, taking hold of his senses, making him listen. There was a tinge of melancholy, bittersweet and nostalgic, even though this was Remus’ first time listening to it. It tugged at his heartstrings, heartstrings he didn’t know he had. 

Slowly, Remus opened his eyes. 

Nora was playing the piano. The sun shone down on her olive skin, turning her golden. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders, swaying with her movements as she lightly tapped her fingers across the piano. Her eyes were half-lidded, expression soft, as if she didn’t know she was even playing. Her posture was loose and fluid, and she glided across the keys like a dance, swaying and swaying like the ocean outside. 

She was beautiful. 

God, she was beautiful. 

The way the light hit her, the way she played, it was hypnotizing. 

Remus felt drunk looking at her, the sight dizzying, the sight ethereal, almost blinding. He felt like he was existing in a dream. A dream where he didn’t end up on the path where he was. Where his parents loved him and he had a family. Where he didn’t end up on the streets and reached out for the first hand that presented itself to him. Where Greyson and he met at a normal high school together, lived like normal teenagers, drank booze too early, stayed up too late, and fell in love normally. Where they met Nora, maybe in some sickeningly sweet way like at a cafe where she’d play the piano and play this very tune, and both Greyson and he fell in love in an instant. Where the three of them rented out some cheap flat together, only to buy this expensive grand piano only so Greyson and Remus could listen to their girlfriend play. 

Remus sniffled. 

It was a quiet sniffle, but it was enough to stop Nora from playing. She looked up from the keys to him and he felt hot shame pool in his gut. 

Soundlessly, she got up and padded over, eyes full of emotion, of _love,_ and Remus was instinctively getting up, curling around himself, pulling away from her grasp. Nora said nothing and leaned even further, arms around him, pulling him into a warm, sweet embrace. Remus was shaking. Before he knew it, he was crying, and his body trembled with confusion, overwhelmed, star-struck, and sick to his stomach. A hand rubbed his scarred back. Nora’s hand. Her gentle hand that tapped at those keys and made him cry. 

Remus wrapped his arms around her, tightly. She was small in his embrace, and she smelled sweet like roses and lavender. 

 

Greyson watched Nora and Remus kiss beside him. 

It was gentle. It was sweet. It was sickeningly romantic. 

Remus has never been so gentle before. So passionate. So loving.

It was alien. 

 

 

Nora was in the kitchen when Cyrus approached her. 

She was stirring honey into three little teacups when he came up behind her. 

“How long are you going to keep this up,” he said. 

Nora swirled around, almost knocking the cups down. Cyrus stepped forward and boxed her in. 

_“Nora,”_ he said, softer. 

Her skin crawled. 

Cyrus smelled like booze. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused. He was dangerous. 

_Dangerous._

All the sirens went off in her head. 

“Get away, _now,”_ she snarled, hands desperately looking for the butterknife she placed on the counter. 

“The drugs on your whores must have worn off by now. It’s only a matter of time until they kill you and take all your money,” Cyrus slurred. He leaned closer, hands clutching onto the counter, breath hot and rank. “You only have me.”

Nora was shaking. Hotly, she pushed Cyrus back, and thankfully he wobbled, giving Nora just enough time to slip away. She didn’t look back, but knew Cyrus was staring back at her. 

 

Remus heard the lock click open. He jolted out of sleep, eyes snapping open. 

For a moment, he held his breath. Then he saw the bedroom door open just a sliver. 

Moonlight poured onto the door. And gleaming between the cracks were eyes. 

Remus held Nora a little tighter. 

 

Greyson knew Nora’s bodyguard watched them when they slept. 

Every night, he’d come. He’d come and slowly unlock her bedroom door, cracking it open by an inch, and just peer in. Sometimes they were awake. Sometimes they were asleep. But he did it every night nevertheless, always on the dot at two in the morning. And he’d watch for at least an hour, eyes gleaming in the dark light. He said nothing, did nothing, but watched. 

Greyson wondered if this was a routine he picked up after Nora bought Remus and him. Or if this was a routine he always had. 

 

 

Naked, Remus padded onto the balcony for the first time. It was peak afternoon, and the sun beat down on him, blinding him when he stepped into the hot, humid air. 

Nora’s mansion was large. He was on the fourth and top floor, overlooking the large lawn and deep blue pool in the backyard. Beyond that was bushes, steel fences and a cliff, dipping down to white stone beaches and a loud ocean at the bottom. They were up a hill, steps and cliffs leading up to her luxurious mansion. There were little buildings in the distance, far away from the mansion separated by palm trees and luscious green, a town that all situated at the shore with docks and piers with dirt roads and cobblestone paths. 

Remus glanced back down at the pool again, seeing a suited figure lurking at the edge, pacing up and down, only stilling when Nora resurfaced to the opposite end of the pool, turning to look at him before swimming down again. Her bodyguard looked furious, crossing his arms and pacing a little quicker now. 

Then Remus heard the screech of a break and he looked out to the dirt roads and pathways surrounding the house. A sleek black car parked on the outside of the steel fence. The windows were tinted. 

Quickly, Remus stepped back, heart thumping. 

Hastily, he peered into a curtained window and stared back down at the car. It didn’t move. He peered over to the other ends of the road, seeing no other cars, but feeling in his goddamn bones within the luscious forestry there were others. 

Automatically, he scavenged around Nora’s room for the switchblade he found as well as anything else. He found some lose-fitting clothes in a box thankfully, and slipped on black harem pants. He found the switchblade and snapped it open, prowling around for anything else of value. There was nothing. 

Then he was running through large, grand corridors decorated in gold and pastels, kicking open door after door, trying to find the bodyguard’s bedroom. It had to be near Nora’s, he was obsessed with her. Thankfully after three tries he found his, smaller and less elaborate, but highly more valuable. He rummaged around his shelves and found what he wanted. Pistols, ammo, tasers and knives. Everything what a bodyguard should have. Before he ran out, he checked the windows again, a different angle of the house now, and saw two other cars parked further from the home, but the same sleek black design like the one near the backyard. 

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. 

He was on his feet again and ran across the other side of the mansion to the front, and saw, once again, another car among the trees, invisible to the untrained eye. One last angle to check and he saw another one parked in the shadows, but this time, the door was opened. 

Remus was sprinting back to the bedroom. 

_“GREY!”_ He shouted. His partner jumped on the bed, confused and half-awake, sitting up straight. Remus threw some pants at him as well as a gun and taser. 

“Five cars, one open, Nora’s outside with her bodyguard, unarmed,” Remus listed off. He rummaged around the box of clothes again and found the largest long sleeve Nora had, slipping it on, tight on his arms and torso but doing the job. He threw another long sleeve at Greyson, who was now awake and slipping clothes on. 

“Where’s the open car,” Greyson said quickly, snatching his gun and taser. 

“Eastside, near the side entrance. Can lead into the backyard,” Remus recited. “I’m going for Nora, watch my back.”

Greyson nodded quickly, the colour draining from his face. Remus stared at him for a long moment, his body screaming him to kiss him, but he only nodded back. Then he was down the stairs barefoot, equipped with only a pistol and some blades, dressed like a slave, his mind sharpening back to what it once was, his body falling back into rhythm. Slow breaths, big steps. Check left, check right, charge. He listened for anything out of the ordinary, hearing nothing but his breath and padding of feet as he got down to the bottom floor and saw the glass doors leading out to the pool. 

Then he heard gunshots. 

It popped outside and instantly Nora’s bodyguard was in the water, grabbing her. Remus broke out into a sprint, seeing tile shatter and bushes shudder. The pops of the gun were loud and quick, semi-automatic, large and dangerous. He heard another distinct pop of a gun and knew it was Greyson, smooth and calculated, careful with his ammo. The semi-automatic cut off and there was shouting and Remus burst through the door into the hot heat just as Nora was being tugged out of the water. She was ok. She was ok. _She was ok._

Her bodyguard immediately tensed up and Remus backed away just enough to not have his guts sliced as he pulled out a knife. 

“I’m trying to protect her, asshole!” Remus snarled. 

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he spat back. 

“Cyrus! Let go!” Nora shouted. She ripped herself from his embrace and Remus grabbed her quickly. Another round of gunfire exploded through the air and Remus didn’t have the patience to talk Cyrus through this, and instead risked being stabbed as he snatched Cyrus’ arm and dragged both of them inside. Bullets shattered more tiles and hit the walls of the house. Greyson was firing back. 

“Both of you get downstairs and lock yourselves in a safe room,” Remus ordered hotly. He turned to Cyrus, who looked horrifically confused. “Grab your guns and keep her safe. We’re dealing with this.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Cyrus shouted. Remus rolled his eyes and pushed him further away from the glass doors to the kitchen. Suddenly Nora was screaming and shoving all three of them behind the island counter just as the glass doors shattered and gunfire rang through the whole house. 

“Get her out of here, NOW!” Remus roared to Cyrus. He shoved him away, and like what he was trained to do, got up over the island and fired his first shot. The pop of the gun reverberated through his skull, the weight of the pistol keeping his mind straight. 

His first bullet shot straight into the first man that invaded the house. He went down in an instant and Remus fired two more bullets just to make sure, blood splattering onto the marble floors. A pair of men went after him and before they could step inside, Remus buried two bullets into both of them. He checked on Nora and Cyrus and saw them rushing downstairs, Remus’ heart feeling a little lighter. Then he killed that feeling. Murdered it. Let the red sweep over his vision and the training kick in. 

 

“What the fuck have you brought?! Seriously, Nora, who are those _monsters_ you bought!?”

Cyrus was screaming at the top of his lungs. More gunfire echoed through the house, followed by a bang and a crash. Nora hugged her knees, tears down her face, shaking in the corner. Cyrus paced faster around their little panic room, the reinforced walls seeming to cave in on both of them, the air hotter and hotter. 

Cyrus’ face was beet red. He stomped over to her. 

“ _He_ had my gun! He shot someone! He killed someone!” He shouted, pointing a dirty finger at her. “Your little whore’s a murderer!”

“Shut up!” Nora screamed back. She was on her feet and charging at Cyrus and she knocked him against the wall. Cyrus fought back, grabbing her shaking fists, and pinning her to the wall. Immediately, she spat in his face, tears running down her face. Her bodyguard clenched onto her wrists harder, leaning in close, her stomach lurching. 

“They’re going to kill everyone and then kill us,” Cyrus said, his voice hysteric. “It’s only you and I now.”

“No, no, _no!”_ Nora screamed, kneeing him in the gut and stumbling away. “They won’t kill me. They _can’t._ ”

_He’s wrong._

Nora remembered the softness of Copper’s lips against her. She remembered the boiling heat of his tears. 

“They will,” Cyrus argued. “Your boys are murderers.”

_No, no, no._

“And you aren’t!?” Nora shouted. “You’ve killed all the pets I’ve wanted over the years. You’ve killed my stalkers and greedy uncles who get too close. You’ve killed anyone who’s tried to get near me!” 

- _Eyes gleamed in the darkness-_

Cyrus stared at her for a moment. 

He laughed. 

“This is such bullshit,” he muttered darkly. “You’re just a child, you don’t know shit.”

Nora snarled at him. She wanted to taunt him. She wanted to prove him wrong. But anything could happen. And she wasn’t naive to know that the feelings he had for her sinful and immoral and absolutely disgusting. She was boxed in here with a monster, while her boys fought upstairs, the gunshots and crashes shaking the house. 

“Copper wanted to protect me,” Nora muttered, wrapping her arms around her waist. “He was protecting me.”

Cyrus glared at her. “Are you fucking serious? I was the one that dragged you out of the pool! My whole fucking life is about protecting you!” 

“I don’t feel safe around you,” she spat out. She’s never felt safe around him. 

Cyrus sighed, closing his eyes and calming himself. They went quiet for a moment while more gunfire exploded upstairs. There was someone shouting. Then a large crash and shatter. Feet were stomping. Nora’s heart quickened. It sounded like a lot of people. Too many people for Copper and Emerald. 

And then Cyrus was on her. 

His body was large and he smelled of sweat. 

His hands grabbed at her waist, snaking to her ass, squeezing her. Touching her. Groping her. Hands were everywhere, slithering like snakes, touching her, touching her, _touching her-_

Nora screamed. She screamed as hard as she could and fought for her fucking life. 

Cyrus seemed so much larger in this boxed room. He was strong, and he pinned her to the wall. His hands touched her. Touched her the same way she touched her kittens. A tongue licked her neck. Licked her the same way she licked her kittens. She thrashed around, her left wrist bound by his hand and opposite hand scratching at whatever she touched. She tried to knee him again, but he ground his hips against her and she sobbed, free hand turning into a fist and smashed him in the side of the head. Cyrus went down. Nora scrambled away. 

Fuck it. She’d rather get shot to death than be touched by Cyrus. 

She opened the door and ran straight into a suited figure. 

She looked up in shock. 

“Father,” she blurted out loud. 

He wasn’t looking at her and instead Cyrus, who laid crumpled on the ground, clutching at his head. Nora saw the blood splatter on her father’s chin. She looked down to his black undershirt and saw the wet crimson stains. Shocked, she backed up, heart pounding against her chest, feeling her hands wet of it. Her father had his usual goons with him, taller, bulkier and equipped, staring down at her as if she was still a kid. They looked like monuments still, even with the blood that sullied their tailored suits. 

Behind them were more lower underlings, more scratched and beaten up, and two were restraining Emerald. 

Emerald was covered in blood. The white loose pants he wore, the pink shirt he wore- covered in blood. Hands were a mess. 

Instantly she lunged forward but was held back by her father. 

“Your dogs are fine,” he said, voice deep and strict. “Rabid one is being patched up upstairs. Pretty one tried to come downstairs without us.”

“Let me go,” she hissed, shaking him off. The cold stare he gave her chilled her bones, and she looked down at the ground. It wasn’t her time to speak. It was never her time to speak. 

“The alarms tripped and we tried to get here as soon as possible,” he explained. “Your guard dogs did good. A messy job, but good. This house is compromised, you’re coming home.”

Nora nodded meekly. She didn’t want to go _there._ Anywhere but there. The house of cigarettes and booze. Of pleasure girls and boys and drugs and money. Of organized crime and violence and her father the king of it all. She just wanted to be at the sea. 

“Cyrus,” her father said suddenly, making everyone flinch. “Did you lay a hand on my daughter?”

Nora bit her lip. She was shaking. She was scared. 

She didn’t want to see another dead body at her feet. 

“He didn’t,” Nora blurted out shakily. 

Her father looked down at her. With a loud slap, he smacked her. His hits were always so much colder than mother’s. Mother’s was full of rage. Father’s was of disappointment. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” he hissed. “Jackson, I want three fingers from him.”

Nora’s eyes widened. 

Her father grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the sight. Jackson, the tallest, stepped forward. 

_“No, no, no!”_ Cyrus screamed. _“I-I did what I was told! I did what Norwell wanted of me!”_

Her father stopped tugging her and glanced back around. His handsome face was set into a snarl. Nora flinched from it, horrified. The face of a true murderer. 

“Jackson, I want four fingers now,” he ordered. 

Cyrus screamed even more hysterical. 

_“Norwell! Norwell! You promised me! You promised me I’d have her!”_ Cyrus shrilled. Jackson slammed the door shut and his screams were muffled. Her father pushed her out of the basement and up the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the wait!  
> [i also drew the trio!](https://local-little-kiddos-art.tumblr.com/post/172713685819/they-were-hers-no-one-could-ever-kill-her-kittens)


	4. Identities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> References to Rape/Dubious Consent/Non-consensual Touching

“Did you know they could fight?”

“No.”

“They fight well. Too well. Too organized to be street-smart. I’m getting Shien to send me their files.”

“Ok.”

It went quiet. 

Remus kept his eyes closed, listening to the vehicle hum. 

“You want to keep them.”

“I do.”

“They could be sent out to kill you. Or me.”

Nora’s hand on Remus’ hair stilled. He was lying on the floor in the back of a van. Nora sat beside him. He didn’t know where Greyson was. 

“They had every chance to. I had a blade in my room the whole time.”

The man went silent. 

“You trust them?”

“More than Cyrus.”

“That’s lust, not trust.”

“They’re _mine.”_

The man sighed. 

“Shien and I will be the judge of that. I’m having two men on you all time until we can figure all this shit out.”

“They’re mine, father. They have the family emblem.”

“I know that, but it can be taken away. If they’ve been tasked to disrupt my business, I will kill them in an instant.”

“They’re not.”

Remus wasn’t. 

Unless he gets in his way.

 

 

Greyson got out of the bath quietly. He padded through the black marble bathroom to the mirror, staring at himself again, head clearer than ever. The echoing pop of gunfire still rang through his ears. His heart pounded against his chest. There was a shake in his hands. 

For a moment, he closed his eyes, steadying himself. Breathed in and out. 

In and out. 

Then he looked at himself in the mirror once more. 

Water dripped down his chin to his chest where his nipples were pierced with rings and a golden chain connecting back up to the choker on his neck. It shone in the harsh light, looking more silver than gold. He looked like a top grade whore, and the ungodly sight of him made him laugh sourly. This was his leash. Two rings, two chains and one golden choker. One tug and he was on his knees. 

He dried himself slowly. Made sure to check his wounds and bruises. Rummaged around for antibacterial spread and bandages. This bathroom was stocked. It had everything behind its golden and black-framed shelves. He slipped on the clothes the men gave him, grateful for the new underwear, and he’s never loved slacks so much before. The button-up shirt stayed open, however, as one little brush of cloth on his nipples made him shiver. He was oversensitive and swollen, and just the sway of the chain brought a tingle through him. Shirts had to stay open, and reveal his lewd chest to on-lookers. 

(This was his leash.)

When he walked out, Nora was sitting on the red velvet bed. 

Her father’s house was large and extremely elaborate. His colour schemes were the complete opposite from hers from white modernism and pastel hues to blacks, golds and dark brown mahogany. There was an underlying cigar and cigarettes smell to the whole mansion, and always a low murmur, the rooms all around them filled with activity. Greyson’s skin crawled thinking what kind of activity went on in the mansion. Greyson’s skin crawled staring at Nora, sweet, slender, beautiful Nora, being related to the man that gunned down five men with a machine gun and didn’t blink once. She was the daughter of a killer. 

“Who are you?” Nora said quickly, a tinge of fear in her voice. It hung in the air for a long time. Greyson paused, the smile tugging at his lips leaving him. “Before I learn it from someone else, I want to know it from you. _Who are you?”_

Who am I?

Greyson felt his stomach drop thinking about it. About his past before this mission. About the academy. About his roommate. About his family. About protocol. About how he should seduce his target, keep her mind off his true identity, make love to her one last time before he snaps her neck. 

“I’m not your enemy,” he said slowly. “Nor your father’s. I don’t know anything about you except you own me and play the piano very well. I am yours.”

Nora’s expression changed. She didn’t look as scared as before. But there was a shake in her step as she approached him, hesitant but curious. Greyson stilled as she reached out for the chains on his chest and tugged gently. He gasped, a little surprised at the sensation. He felt the tug at his nipples, pleasure blooming, memories flooding, sensations overwhelming him. 

“Who’s your enemy?” Nora said softly. Greyson licked his lips, trembling slightly. She tugged again and Greyson wanted to drop to his knees like the good boy he was. 

“The heads of the sex slave ring in the Mediterranean,” Greyson gasped. He could feel the slashes he’ll receive when he goes back home. “Garrison J. Kennedy. Carmine Q. Dunkirk. A-And Takumi Fukunaga.”

Nora let go. 

“Who are you?” She repeated again, a little harder. 

Greyson smiled weakly. “Yours.”

She frowned and slowly slid her fingers up his chest to his nipple. She teased it with the pads of her fingertips and Greyson exhaled shakily through his nose. 

“Who are you?” 

Pleasure bloomed. No, it erupted. Cracking and erupting like a fucking volcano. All the teachings and praises and punishment and pleasure she gave him all hit him at once and he legitimately felt weak at the knees. She broke him. Smashed him to smithereens and built him back up again where he can’t live without her. Or maybe he just thinks that because he _wants_ to tell her. He needs to make an excuse for why he would tell his deepest, darkest secret that he’s killed people the moment they learn it. 

“Agent 483,” he muttered softly. He could feel the sniper target on him already. “Agent 397 and I were tasked to infiltrate the Mediterranean sex slave organization and assassinate Garrison J. Kennedy, Carmine Q. Dunkirk and Takumi Fukunaga. You found us when we failed to kill Garrison.”

Nora’s expression was mixed. Greyson knew he couldn’t just wrap his arms around her and tell her he’s the same kitten she wanted him to be. She had just learned her pets were murderers. 

“I’m assuming Garrison just wanted us in the auction as a part of his sadistic play. His goons were in the audience for his bidding. After they made us go through the horrors of their little organization, he was going to buy us and promptly kill us afterwards.” 

Nora’s hand left him. His nipple throbbed. It felt cold and stimulated and he wanted to touch himself. He was willing to fall to his knees and pleasure himself in front of her. 

“My father’s secretary will be going through your files. Will he find out about this?” She said slowly. 

Greyson shook his head. “We do not have identities. No homes, no paperwork.” Just the Academy. “Whatever paperwork the auction gave you was fabricated. Probably very well, since this organization has been going on for several years. And your father’s secretary will find nothing else about us. We do not exist.”

Nora frowned. She worried her lip and glanced up at him shyly. 

“Does Agent 483 have a name?” She said softly. 

When she said his title, it didn’t feel cold. Unbearable. Sad. Unbearably sad. 

“No,” he said calmly. 

Nora frowned again. Cute. 

“Everyone has a name.”

“Not where I’m from.”

“I want to trust you,” Nora urged. “And to trust you, I need to know your name. I won’t say it to anyone but you. To everyone else, you’re still my kitten. My possession. My Emerald.”

Greyson felt a little dizzy. 

All he’s ever wanted was to be needed. To be owned. To be named. 

He…nodded. 

“Before my parents died…they called me Greyson,” he said softly. 

Nora smiled. She _smiled._

_“Greyson,”_ she said sweetly. “Greyson. _Greyson.”_

He nodded again, a little harder. He liked the way she said it. So soft. So sweet. So perfect. 

“You’re in danger,” she said calmly. 

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Those men at the house wanted to kill us. You’re probably a target now as well.”

“We’re safe at my father’s. They can’t harm us here.”

Greyson opened his eyes and glanced down at his master. 

“If I may ask, who are you?” He said softly. 

Nora stopped smiling and stepped back from him. She crossed her arms, looking down at the ground. 

“Novenna Reyhart Mannarino. Heir to the Mannarino Family,” she said quietly. 

Greyson blinked. 

_Shit._

She’s the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the Mediterranean. 

Greyson was bought by a modern day princess. If that princess’ father was a mob boss that specialized in gambling, loans and hired territory protection. His heart rammed against his chest. All the files he read about the family didn’t include any connections to the sex slave organization though, so Greyson slightly relaxed. Only slightly, because the man that saved Remus’ and his life could potentially be a future enemy. Which made Nora a future enemy. 

“I’m sorry,” Nora said suddenly, breaking his train of thought. “I’m so sorry. I…shouldn’t have treated you both the way I did.”

Greyson frowned, confused. She looked like she was going to cry. 

“What is there to be sorry for?” He asked quietly. 

“Everything,” Nora sighed, throwing her hands up in defeat. “You two weren’t slaves. Hell, you’re trying to stop sex slavery and I treated you both _terribly._ I…I _touched_ both of you. I’m a part of the problem you both desperately want to solve.”

Greyson paused. In his line of work, consent was never an issue, because even if he didn’t want it, he had to do it. If the target wanted their way with him, and it was in his line of interest, Greyson had to open up his legs for them, and sometimes, it’s the other way around. He’s seducing the target. Edging them onto the bed, pleasuring them, compromising them. He knew consent was important, but he never needed it. His body was a weapon. And his sexuality was connected to that. 

“No need,” he muttered softly. “No need to be sorry.”

Nights with Nora have been some of the best nights of his life. Freeing, even. 

Greyson got to forget who he was and live in the moment, making love to his life partner and a beautiful woman. He got to forget he was ever an agent of the Academy, and just lived the spoiled sex slave life that consisted of eating, fucking, sleeping and repeating. He didn’t have to worry about looking into a frightened man’s eyes and bury a bullet into his brain, remembering the noise, remembering the blood, remembering the gore. He could just be a stupid slut and get double-penetrated by the man of his dreams and woman of his fantasies. 

“I want to say it though, because I truly am sorry,” she urged on, lip curled and quivering. “The moment Copper is awake and can move, I’ll help you both escape. I want to get you both out of here as soon as possible. You have a mission to complete. A…mission I agree with.”

Greyson smiled lopsidedly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“There’s no need to atone for your sins, Nora. We were drugged up and wanted it. It was destined to happen one way or another,” he shook his head. He laughed and stepped forward to her. “I’m grateful it was you.”

Nora looked horrified. Greyson seemed confused. Usually that line worked on people.

“That makes it even worse because you both were intoxicated and couldn’t give clear consent,” Nora muttered. She frowned and tears dripped down her face. Hotly, she wiped them away and gulped a breath. “Treasure yourself.”

Then she was spinning around and exiting the room, leaving Greyson in the dust. 

She didn’t know him. She didn’t know his backstory, his motivations or his goals. She only knew his body and how to pleasure him. And yet, she held him up on such a high pedestal, a woman of her caliber telling him to _treasure himself._ He was trash. Scum. Once a boy with nomadic parents that were murdered by a nameless man. Once a boy who was desperate for reciprocation he enrolled into an academy that trained their students to kill and seduce. An academy that operated in the shadows, toppling dictatorships, monarchies, and democracies. An academy that turned that once nomadic little boy into a nameless killing machine. 

And Nora wanted him to treasure himself. 

_Treasure me._

_Make me yours._

_Let me be your treasure._

Greyson wondered if revealing his identity was worth the reaction Nora gave him. She was crying. Scared. Shaken. Greyson just wanted her to say his name. Greyson wanted to tell her, sober, that he was still hers. 

But maybe he was still that naive little bastard that got his parents killed. 

Naive to think Nora could ever look at him the same way, and fuck him the same way. She probably will never touch him again. She probably will never pleasure him so intensely he forgot who he was. She’ll never love him. 

_Treasure me._

No one will. 

 

 

When Remus woke up, Nora was beside him. She was crying. 

 

 

The first thing Nora saw when she entered her father’s study was four bloody fingers on the desk. 

Her stomach swirled and she paused to calm herself, staring at the immaculate ebony floors, so clean she could see her horrified expression stare back at her. 

“Your boys had a shit life,” was the first thing her father said to her, not even fazed by the fingers that sat a foot away from him. They sat on a red plate, presented to him like a meal. 

Nora sucked in a breath and stared at her father. Salt and pepper hair, sharp eyes, smooth jawline, handsome face and dead, black eyes. He broke eye contact with her and tapped away at his laptop. 

“Two poor orphans who decided to steal from the wrong man,” her father summarized. “On the streets for eighteen years, and in a whorehouse for five.”

That was a lie. 

Nora nodded slowly. “Ok,” she responded softly. 

“They learned how to fight on the streets,” her father began again. “I still don’t buy how the hell they’re so good and _clean_ at it, but maybe they’re just lucky bastards. They did their job and kept my daughter safe, and Shien can’t find any dirt on them, so you can keep them. They’ll replace Cyrus.”

Nora nodded again, staring at the fingers this time. 

Her father went silent again. 

“You honestly trust them?” 

Nora stared into his hollow eyes. 

“I do.”

Her father frowned. “I don’t. But I know every bastard here wants to become the head of this family or fuck my only daughter, so they’re the only options for your protection,” he sighed. Then he was rummaging around his desk and pulled out a small little controller. “I’m getting Jackson to install tech into their collars. If they ever think about attacking you, hit this button and it’ll tase them out cold. I’m also getting him to see if their skills are real or just a stroke of luck.”

“Ok,” Nora mumbled. She stared at the little controller. He placed it down right beside the plate of fingers. She was shaking when she walked up and grabbed it, unable to tear her eyes away from the plate, noticing the discolouration of flesh and blood. 

 

 

“You _told her?”_

Remus’ face was hot with rage. Greyson sighed and paced around the room. 

“I-I know, one of the first rules is to never reveal our identities,” he muttered. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” Remus hissed, standing up from the window and jabbing a finger into his chest. “We lie or _die,_ we never tell an outsider _shit._ How many missions have we gone on?”

Greyson slapped his hand away and stepped back. He avoided his boiling glare. “Millions.”

“And many of those missions included _torture,_ and we never told the truth. Yet you get fucked by one pretty girl and you tell her _everything?”_

“I didn’t reveal your identity, just your number,” Greyson rebutted. 

“And every fucking detail of our mission!” Remus hissed, pushing him hard, Greyson hitting the wall. He took it. He’s gone through worse, even though his heart was shattering into a million pieces. Maybe it was because he betrayed his partner. His family. And for what? One pretty girl’s trust. Remus was right, he was fucked. 

“We both know she’d do nothing to harm us.” Greyson tried to pick up the pieces. “She’s just an abused kid.”

“A kid connected to a _huge_ mob boss. If she tells her father anything, he will kill us or the academy will.”

“She won’t.”

Remus snarled and pushed him harder against the wall. “And why the fuck would you think that?”

“She’s _abused,_ Remus,” Greyson urged. “You can see it in her body language when she interacts with her father. You saw the bruises when we made love to her.”

Remus’ face twisted when Greyson said, “made love.” 

“I don’t know how much you remember from our drug trip, but I think she’s being forced by her family to provide a heir,” he continued. “She’s the only daughter of one of the biggest mob families on the continent, and these kind of families aren’t exactly forward-thinking.”

Remus looked disgusted. “So you’re saying they bought us so we could father the family a son?”

Greyson nodded. 

“She never wanted that, and you know that,” he pressed. He bit his tongue before he said something he’ll regret like, “ _You know that because she loved to fuck both of us silly.”_

Remus frowned and the grip on Greyson’s shoulder softened. He closed his eyes and sighed. 

“You want to get her out of here.”

Greyson swallowed thickly. 

“The academy can grant her political asylum wherever she wants to stay.”

Then Remus’ hand was digging into his shoulder. He was _furious._

“ _Kill your feelings, Agent 483,”_ he hissed, voice like venom. “She is just a casualty in our mission. Involving her will only make it not only dangerous for her but for us as well.” 

_“Remus,”_ Greyson urged. “We can’t just leave her where she is. If we leave and follow out the mission she’ll be killed. Or worse, more men like her bodyguard are going to prey on her. Especially when they learn she isn’t pregnant. _Remus,_ doesn’t that affect you-” 

Remus’ other hand slammed down on his throat, silencing him immediately. 

“ _Agent 483. Kill. Your. Feelings.”_ Remus snarled. His grip tightened on his throat and Greyson breathed heavily out of his nose. “You’re better than this. It was one drugged up affair. She will just be a casualty. We have other things to worry about.”

“You’re _heartless,”_ Greyson spat out. He shoved Remus’ hand away, and like lightning, Remus was pinning him harder against the wall, his forearm pressed against his chest this time. 

“And you’re a fucking idiot,” his partner spat back at him. “It was _one fuck.”_

“We both know what _one fuck_ can do,” Greyson threatened to tease. 

One fuck got them almost killed when they were sixteen. One fuck stopped Remus from being deported and gave Greyson nightmares. One fuck meant a long enough distraction to kill a war lord. One fuck could communicate to Remus how much Greyson wanted him. One fuck could mean life or death to them.

And Remus knew that. 

Hotly, he grabbed Greyson’s cock, and the boy’s eyes snapped open. 

“Stop thinking with your dick,” Remus snarled. He squeezed him tighter and Greyson whimpered. “She gave you a temporary bliss and she can’t do anymore for you. You’re stupid for feeling anything for a casualty.”

“Say her name, Remus. Novenna. _Nora._ An abused girl who be _raped_ if we leave her as it is. She’s not some stupid _casualty,_ she’s an abused girl who needs our help,” Greyson spat back with gritted teeth. “The reason I stayed with you so long was because I remember a fifteen year old boy wanted to keep doing what he was doing because he wanted to help girls and boys like _Nora._ And I _loved_ that boy.”

“That boy died the moment you stuck your filthy cock in him,” Remus growled. His grip got even tighter on Greyson’s throbbing dick and he tugged hard, making his partner buck his hips. 

Greyson felt like he was just struck. His mind was reeling. 

“Y-You liked it,” he spat back, weaker this time. Remus tugged and pushed his cock in torturous circles. 

“That kid you loved did,” Remus hissed. “I fucking _hate_ you.” 

Greyson sobbed when Remus released his cock and shoved his hands into his pants. He began to jack him off slowly, hand dry and rough, purposefully painful, eagerly squeezing the precum out of his dick to slick his shaft. 

_“I hate you,”_ Remus hissed into his ear. “You’re a whore and an emotional wreck. One pretty girl pinches your nipples and tugs your cock and suddenly your her sweet little kitten.” 

Roughly, he grabbed onto the chains on his chest and tugged, pain shooting to his nipples, and Greyson cried out. 

_“Look at you._ You look like a real bred slave. And you probably love that. You _love_ the fact that someone gave you a fucking name instead of your number, am I right, Agent 483?” 

His words were poisonous. His words were true. 

“Stop projecting yourself on me,” Greyson snapped, hips shaking. He leaned back against the wall, hips arched off and thrusting into Remus’ now wet hands. “I know you loved it too. You _loved_ being her slave. You moaned for her cock. You moaned for _my_ cock too. You’re a whore. You’re a filthy whore.”

Remus snarled and his forearm pressed against his neck. Greyson shuddered and he fucked harder into Remus’ hands. 

_“I hate you with every fibre of my fucking being,”_ Remus jeered. “A whore is someone who laughed and thanked the men who gang-raped him. A whore is someone who can’t be faithful to one person. A whore is someone who’s willing to risk dying for one stupid girl. _You’re a whore._ Look at you move your filthy hips like that. You’re such a slut. You can’t stop yourself from pleasuring yourself with my hand.”

Greyson growled at him and fucked harder into his open hand. He laughed sourly. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. “Maybe I _am_ a whore. And this whore is imagining what he’d do to you if you keep saying _shit.”_

“Oh yeah? What would this _whore_ do to me?”

Greyson laughed again, eyes going wide. He rolled his hips in a more fluid motion, pounding his cock into his hand so hard Remus’s grip broke. His hand grabbed at his waist, digging his nails deep into his skin, breaking it and hoping he’s making Remus fucking _bleed._ In response, Remus pressed his forearm harder against his neck and Greyson coughed. 

“I’d fucking _break you,”_ he threatened. “I’d fuck you so hard you can’t walk anymore. Break your sweet little cunt the way your hands broke just now. Split you wide apart. Make you _fucking bleed.”_

Remus’ eyes darkened and he kept pressing and pressing his forearm harder and harder against his throat. Greyson’s vision was starting to splotch and he gasped for air. 

“I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you,”_ Remus snarled. “You’d risk so much for one _stupid girl.”_

Then his arm was off his neck and Greyson cried out. He was gasping, doubled over, clutching at his neck, tears in his eyes. Remus dropped to his knees and then Greyson was sobbing out again as his partner pushed all of his cock into his mouth. He sucked him hard, the slurping noise sinfully obscene. Greyson clutched onto his scalp and pulled half of him out before snapping his hips. He shoved Remus’ face against his groin, letting him smell the sweat, grime and musk of him. His partner only swallowed more of him, humming and shaking, eyes fluttering in pain. 

“You almost killed me,” Greyson growled. He pulled out again, more of him now, Remus still sucking hard, his cheeks concaving and lips red, and pounded right back in with a slap. _“God,_ you’re infuriating.” 

Remus’ eyebrows furrowed and suddenly Greyson felt teeth ever so lightly bite down on his sex. He stilled and glared at him. 

“If you bite off my dick, I swear to god I will tie you to the bed and fuck you with my whole _goddamn fist,”_ Greyson spat. Remus’ teeth retreated and he pulled back. 

_“Whore,”_ he replied viciously, voice hoarse and rusty. 

“Suck my dick,” Greyson spat back, shoving his dick back into his mouth. Remus took it obediently, opening himself wide to let Greyson pound his cock to the back of his throat. It felt so good Greyson wanted to cry. Spit and cum dribbled down Remus’ chin, the man on his knees looking more and more like the whore he described. Greyson moaned and kept his thrusts quick and short, letting him angle his cock just right where he’s hitting all of Remus’ sweetest spots. Tears dripped down his partner’s face. 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” Greyson grunted, shoving Remus’ face up and down his cock. “You’re such a hypocrite and a liar and such a fucking _psychopath._ Who the fuck can just _kill their feelings?_ Is it fun? Is it fun to never feel a thing? Aren’t you fucking _lonely_ like that?” He snapped his hips particularly hard it made Remus twitch and whimper. “I hate you, too. I hate you so much. I miss the fifteen year old you. The you that cared about me and the people we saved. I hate you _so much.”_

He hoped he was clutching so hard to Remus’ scalp he tore hair. He wanted him to feel pain. Physical pain. Because he knew emotionally that man was dead. But physical pain was something that could hurt him. And Greyson wanted to hurt him. 

Remus only responded by swallowing more and more of him down, slurping and sucking, humming and whimpering, pleasuring and pleasuring and pleasuring Greyson’s cock more and more and more like the pretty slut he wanted to be. He slammed his hips so hard against Remus’ face it busted his nose, blood dripping down his dick and balls, Greyson not giving a shit as he was hitting an unimaginable high he never thought he’d ever feel again. His mind was clear. He was sober. The only thing he ran on was adrenaline and pure hatred. And it felt so fucking good he was going to cum.

He didn’t tell Remus and let it be a huge surprise. After one loud shout and one last punishing blow, Greyson came, holding Remus’ head with both his hands and pressing him against his body, making him choke on his squirting dick. The man coughed with his throat full of cock and semen, crying out and trying to shake him off, but Greyson kept squirting more and more of him into him, hurting him, _punishing_ him. Remus’ nails scratched at his legs and hands, and Greyson didn’t give a shit, letting cherry red blood bubble up on his skin. He knew he liked it. He knew Remus wanted this. If he didn’t, he would have bitten off his cock by now. He was a whore. He was a dirty, filthy, cum-hungry _whore._

Greyson pulled all of him out, shivering at the cold air as it hit his wet, dripping cock, and for the finishing touches, came just a few more times across Remus’ face, hitting his left eye and eyebrow. 

Remus was absolutely fucking _wrecked._

Gasping, shaking and crying, he looked up at Greyson. His nose was bleeding and half his face was caked in blood. His lips were puffy and swollen. Spit and cum dripped down his chin. Tears streaked his face. His hair was pulled to shit. His face was covered in semen. His eyes no longer burned with rage, hollow and glazed over. His expression was soft. Docile. Submissive. 

He looked better like this. 

 

 

Nora sat by the window, staring out to the neon, smoky city below her. The streets were coloured in a pink and red hue, the people passing by at this time of the night drunk, wobbling and dancing on the road with others. Even in the city it was still humid, sweat dripping down Nora’s chin. 

Sighing, she brought her knees up and hugged them, watching the pedestrians pass by, so free and full of themselves, naive and stupid. She felt like a fucking fairy tail princess stuck in her castle while the world moved on without her. 

Tonight would be the perfect night for Greyson and Copper to escape. There wasn’t a lot of people on the road and her father was too engrossed with figuring out who attacked her mansion to see them slip by. Nora assumed both boys were trained in stealth and knew what to do. She would just follow their orders, help them in any way she can. Repent for her sins. 

She raped them. 

Nora raped two men. 

She took advantage of two drugged up men. 

She was so intoxicated with the idea of dominating two men for the first time she didn’t even think for a second if they wanted it. Yes, they were sex slaves and consent was blurry. But Nora thought she was better than that and would treat them like gods. But she didn’t. She was like every sleazy man in that auction audience. She was a monster. She raped Greyson and Copper, agents of a secret organization, men who were abducted and forced into slavery. 

The more she thought about it, the sicker she became. 

Their story was honestly like every other sex slave’s story. None of them wanted to be auctioned off. Millions of boys and girls have been abducted and forced into slavery, and Nora didn’t care until she became the problem. She didn’t care before, when she had power and influence to stop it. She only cared now because it affected her. And that was pathetic. Her morals were screwed. She hurt them. She _hurt them._

She was just like Cyrus. 

Cyrus, who touched her between her legs, who grabbed her ass, who tasted her neck, who breathed in her smell. Cyrus, who watched her as she raped her slaves, who watched her undress, who raised her as a child. Cyrus wanted to fuck her the same way she fucked Greyson and Copper. Without consent. Just acted on basic instinct. Just thought about himself and no one else. 

Nora was crying again. 

She was a monster. She was the monster that Greyson and Copper were tasked to kill. They should kill her. Kill her before she can do it again. Or maybe cut off her fingers. Cut off four fingers.

Sniffling, she wiped her eyes and got up from the window. It was a hot night. She wondered if her father still stashed grape popsicles in his private freezer. Her head throbbed. She just wanted a popsicle and cry out her guts more and pass out. Maybe she should go through her father’s alcohol collection, that’ll either kill her or knock her cold for a few days. The adult version of a grape popsicle. 

She wiped her face dry and calmed her breath. If any of her father’s goons found her wandering the hallways at night crying, they’re going to ask what’s wrong and she wouldn’t give them a good answer. 

Sighing, she opened the door. 

Cyrus was behind it. 

 

Remus turned off the tap and patted his face dry. The fluorescent lights in the bathroom gave him an eerie glow, his face more sunken and paler than usual. For a moment, he stared at his reflection, noticing the scar he was developing on his bottom lip where Nora and Greyson bit him. A jolt of heat ran through him when he remembered their tongues and teeth in his mouth, and he clutched the sink hard to let that memory slide by and not latch onto it. 

Kill your feelings, Agent 397. 

He remembered Greyson’s cock down his throat and he shivered. His lip curled into a frown and suddenly a wave of emotion hit him at once. 

Shit, he was _sad._

The realization hit him so hard he sat down on the toilet. He was sad. _Sad._ And feeling sad _hurt._ It closed up his throat and stopped his breathing. It churned his stomach and sizzled his brain. 

He was sad. Sad beyond the point of crying. He just didn’t want to think. And yet his brain thought. It soared. 

Who was he? 

Greyson was right. 

Who was he?

What has changed since he was fifteen to now? 

He knows the answer. He just doesn’t want to admit it. 

It’s Greyson. It’s always Greyson. 

Remus was in love with Greyson, and made love to Greyson. And then the academy found out and tortured them. But Remus was still Remus back then. He felt anger. Sadness. Pain. 

It’s Greyson. It’s always Greyson. 

Greyson let the headmaster fuck him to stop all of this. _This_ being them. Their budding love. 

And Greyson let anyone fuck him. Let men and women pass him around like a damn ball. The Director capitalized on his sexuality. 

It’s Greyson. It’s always Greyson. 

Remus turned into a killing machine the moment he let another person fuck him. Love him. Remus was tossed to the side, another notch on Greyson’s belt. Remus completed his first solo mission after Greyson whored himself out. It was a pedophile, and Remus put a bullet right between his eyes. He remembered how hot the blood was as it splattered across his face. Remus wasn’t Remus anymore. 

Kill your feelings, Agent 397. 

Remus sighed shakily. 

Who was he, without the academy? 

A murderer. 

(You could be someone’s pet.) 

(You were someone’s pet.) 

(You ruined your chance to feel again. To be Remus again.) 

(You want her killed. Or worse, raped.) 

You want another Greyson?

Remus’ eyes snapped open, and before he knew it, he was crying. Tears flowing from his eyes. These tears were different from the ones he shed a day ago when Greyson fucked his throat raw. These tears were the same tears when he heard Nora play for the first time. He cried because he was in pain. Emotional pain. 

Remus gasped shakily and wiped away his tears. He swore under his breath. 

Quickly, he got up and out of the bathroom. Greyson was sleeping on the large bed by the window while Remus opted for the couch in the corner. They haven’t spoken since their late hate-sexcapade. 

Silently, Remus crept past the bedroom to the door connecting Nora’s and theirs. Being a sex slave meant always an arm’s reach to their master, even if everyone in this household was convinced they were trained killers to assassinate their boss, which they could be after this mission. He hesitated before gripping the knob tight, and slowly, he opened the door. 

Nora was lying on the floor, a hand on her mouth, her shirt torn open. 

Cyrus stared at him with huge eyes. 

_“YOU FUCKER!”_

Shit, that didn’t even sound like his voice. 

He sounded like an animal. 

In seconds he was barreling Cyrus off Nora and had his fist connecting with his face. Both his hands were trying to beat Remus off him, one hand in particular bandaged to hell and seeping red. Blood oozed as it connected to his face, but Remus brushed it off like it was nothing and punched Cyrus with all his might, hoping to god he broke his nose and knocked some teeth out. He was angry. 

He was _so fucking angry._

The tears dripping down his face were dry now, and replaced with Cyrus’ smeared blood. 

Red like his goddamn fury. 

He was feeling the fucking universe course through his veins. 

Kill your feelings, Agent 397. 

Fuck you. 

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. 

_Fuck. You._

 

Nora heard Cyrus’ nose crack under Copper’s knuckles. Then Greyson was above her, eyes wide with horror, and he was reaching out for her and she felt sick to her stomach but she still grabbed him. Tears dripped down her face. 

“Oh, _love,”_ Greyson whispered sweetly. His arms tightened around her. _“You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok.”_ A blanket was around her bare chest and a kiss was planted on her forehead. 

There was another wet crunch. Snarling. 

_“You fucking bastard,”_ Copper growled in an almost inhuman voice. 

Another wet crunch. 

Hands were off her and Greyson was stumbling over to Copper. 

“Remus, _stop!”_ Greyson hissed, grabbing him suddenly. 

His name was Remus. 

Greyson was stumbling over to _Remus._ Greyson grabbed _Remus._

“ _Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!_ ” Remus roared.

Suddenly, the lights turned on. There was shouting outside. 

Greyson struggled to restrain Remus, the man larger and angrier and stronger. His face was boiling red with rage. His face was red with blood. 

The door burst open and Jackson and her father’s other bodyguards were swarming the place. Shein caught sight of her, horrified and hurried over. He was saying something to her but Nora watched in terror as Remus screamed and snarled as Greyson, Jackson and two other men pried him off Cyrus. 

Was Cyrus even alive anymore?

Nora felt sick. God, she was sick. Sick, sick, _sick._

 

 

Nora opened the door. 

Cyrus was standing behind it. 

 

_“Baby, you look so good.”_

_“Stop fighting, stop fighting.”_

_“I was promised this. Your father wants this. Let me give you a son.”_

_“I want your children, Novenna.”_

_“Norwell promised me.”_

 

“Norwell promised me.”

 

Nora found herself vomiting in a toilet. 


	5. Succumb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> Mentions of Rape/Dubious Consent/Depictions of Violence

Nora’s father struck Greyson hard in the face. It stung like hell, and his neck screamed in pain from the whiplash. 

“Who are you?” Norwell Mannarino spat viciously. 

Greyson leaned back in the chair, glancing down at the restraints on his arms and legs before looking straight at him in the eye. 

“I’m Novenna’s,” he said evenly. 

Hotly, Norwell struck him again, and then again, and then a third time, his hand turning into a fist. The punch _hurt,_ his jaw throbbing in pain, his breathing quickening and vision blurring. 

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” He asked again. 

“I’m nobody but Novenna’s,” he replied back. 

“You love my daughter?”

“I’m just a whore.”

“You’re what?” 

“A whore.”

“You’re a whore?”

“I’m just a whore.”

“A whore that can fight like a trained killer?”

“I would never kill her. I can’t.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“I’m her whore.”

“You’re who’s whore?”

“Novenna’s whore.”

“Novenna’s _whore.”_

_“_ Yessir.”

“Why the hell should I trust a whore who killed thirteen people in the span of twenty minutes?”

“I protected Novenna.”

“You protected Novenna.”

“Yessir.”

He punched him again, this time in the gut, and Greyson doubled over. Blood dripped out his mouth. He blinked away the tears. 

“You would kill to protect my daughter?”

“Yessir.”

“But you’re just a whore.”

Greyson paused, breathing hard, hearing his breaths echo in this small cubed room. 

“I am a whore,” he replied slowly. 

Norwell walked around him, watching him gasp and writhe in pain. He stopped in front of him, and slowly clutched the chains at his chest. Greyson’s breathing quickened and Norwell stared at him with a sick smile on his face. He didn’t tug. He just held the chains in his hands, Greyson’s body trembling and making the chains shake. 

“Do you want to be more than a whore?” Nora’s father asked slowly. 

Greyson blinked. 

“Only if Novenna wants it.”

“Only if Novenna wants it?”

“Yessir.”

“Novenna needs a guard dog. Not a bodyguard but a guard dog. Do you know the difference, boy?”

“No sir.”

“A bodyguard is a man. A guard dog is an animal. You know what we do to animals if they misbehave? We kill them and replace them. A bodyguard can lose a few fingers. A guard dog gets shot. You understand?”

“Yessir.”

“You wanna be a guard dog?”

“Only if Novenna allows it.”

“I allow it.”

Greyson stared up at Norwell. He was tense all over. Norwell was still holding the golden chains connecting to his nipple piercings. 

“I belong to Novenna.”

Norwell visibly relaxed. He let go of the chains and stepped back. 

“From now on you’re not a whore anymore. You’re a guard dog, got it?”

Greyson swallowed thickly and didn’t respond. 

“Good dog,” Nora’s father laughed. 

 

Remus was on the floor, face covered in blood. His nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. 

“Being a guard dog means being an obedient bitch,” Jackson said deeply, stepping over him. “You might be given a gun, but if you misuse that weapon in any way, you’re dead.”

Remus blinked up at him and said nothing. The man frowned and leaned back, his boot stepping hard on his crotch. 

“You turn your back to any of us, we’ll kill you. Norwell might say we’ll shoot you on sight, but the boys will first have our fun with you. We’re going to make your suffer and then shoot you. You wanna know what kind of suffering you’ll go through?”

His boot ground harder on Remus’ crotch and he winced slightly. 

“This, but a million times worse,” Jackson threatened. “There are some sadistic, sick men in this family.”

Remus blinked as a response and Jackson lifted his boot. He walked around him again. 

“We’re not going to let you dress like us,” he growled. “You are not the same as us. You might be a guard for Novenna, but you’re still a mutt. You’re a whore and you will dress like one. You won’t get the same protection we get because you _aren’t human._ You got that, mutt?”

Remus was sick of Jackson’s sadistic play. 

“Woof,” he responded dryly. 

Jackson’s lip curled into a snarl and he stomped his foot hard beside Remus’ head. He didn’t even blink. 

“You and your partner will meet Norwell and I in his study at nine tomorrow morning. Dress combat ready,” he sneered. Remus sighed through his nose, more blood dripping down his chin. 

And then Jackson was gone, and Remus was left to bleed out on the laminated floor. 

He waited a solid five minutes before slowly getting up and wiping his disgusting face. The world spun and throbbed and vibrated, and it took another five minutes to hoist himself up and limp out the door. 

Nora’s bedroom was down the hall and up the stairs, and in the span of three minutes Remus was cat-called five times and got groped once. He said nothing to the bastards, knowing they were just taunting him so they could have their ways with him. 

But Remus belonged to Nora and no one else. 

_Nora, Nora, Nora._

She was in the bathroom with Greyson. He had a black eye and a bruised nose as well. Nora was shampooing his hair, sitting on a stool, covered in suds. Staring at both of them, Remus stripped out of his clothes and knelt on the ground in front of Nora. He let out the exhausted sigh he was holding in, his shoulders slumping and head hanging low. 

Nora wrapped her arms around him gently. Greyson got out of the tub and fetched a bucket and towels. Remus saw the bruises on his stomach. Quickly, he scooped up some hot water from the tub and poured it on top of him, Remus jumping from the temperature change. Nora rubbed his cheek and grabbed one of the towels, soaking it in the hot water before rubbing it gently against his bloodied face. Greyson poured some more water over him, slower this time, letting the water trickle over his face and wash away the first layer of grime. The tiles around them turned pink, the water seeping into the drain blood red. 

It felt like Remus was being reborn again as Greyson and Nora washed him. They scrubbed and wiped away the blood on his skin as gently as possible, making sure to not press too hard on bruises that bloomed over his chest, stomach and arms. He was in a worser condition than Greyson, and it made Nora’s face scrunch up in worry. 

Sighing again, Remus touched her cheek and directed her attention to him. Slowly, he tugged her close and kissed her, tasting the mint and cherry on her tongue, alive and attentive again. She tasted like god. 

Sweetly, Nora kissed back, tongue running over his split lip and kissing the wound. Then she was kissing his black eye and scratches on his face. Greyson joined in, peppering kisses on his bruised back and arms. Remus gasped a little, heart beating faster and faster. 

This is what it felt like to be alive, huh. 

It’s terrifying. 

 

“We’re getting you out of here with us,” Greyson said softly. Nora opened her eyes, feeling his scarred hand run through her wet hair. “Right, Remus?”

It was quiet for a long time, Greyson’s words ringing in the darkness. 

“Yes,” Remus whispered softly. An arm wrapped around Nora’s waist and lips were on her neck. She shivered a little, still used to this new kind of intimacy between them. They haven’t had sex in almost two weeks, and this was the closest they’ll ever get to it, when they’re huddled around each other in bed, lips on necks, lips on lips, hands in hands. 

Nora never wanted to touch them again, as nightmares of Cyrus come to haunt her at night. 

“…Ok,” Nora whispered back. She felt the boys relax against her. 

“Our organization can grant you political asylum wherever you choose to live,” Greyson muttered in her ear. “Your circumstances follow the criteria for any further special protection too.”

“Do you honestly think I can just…run away?” Nora whispered. 

“With our help, yes,” Remus grumbled. 

“We’ve done it a million times,” Greyson added. 

“Ok…I trust you,” Nora replied. She clutched a little harder to Greyson’s shirt. 

“Are you scared?” He asked softly. 

Nora hummed. 

“We’ll keep you safe. We’ll teach you how to protect yourself,” Remus mumbled. 

Greyson wrapped his arms a little tighter around her. “We’ll never let your mother or father ever hurt you again.”

Remus sighed and kissed her shoulder. 

“We promise,” he added on. 

Nora shuddered and closed her watery eyes. 

“Ok,” she whispered. “What’s going to happen?”

 

Greyson could see the likeness of Nora in Norwell. They had the same soft jawline, long nose and sharp eyes. But the similarities stopped there, as Nora had a softer complexion that she took from her mom, while her father was all sharp edges and fish-eyed stares. Her father had a terrifying energy to him as if at any moment he would gun him down if he stepped out of line. There was a creepy cleanliness to him as well, his clothes ironed to perfection and hair combed back into a slick shine. Not one hair or button was out of place. For his age, he was handsome, but his attractiveness could only hide so much of the dark energy seeping out of him. For three hours yesterday Norwell beat the shit out of him to prove his loyalty, so he wasn’t that attractive. 

Today, he was handing him a gun. It was the normal pistol his officers would equip him for a standard mission. Small, compact, concealable. It felt nice it Greyson’s hands, the weight familiar and somewhat comforting. It’s been almost a month since he’s held a good gun. A gun to protect him. He checked the magazine, surprised Norwell would give him a loaded one the moment he stepped inside his office, and snapped it back into place. Remus was beside him and glancing him the same odd look as he was too handed a gun. 

Norwell looked both of them up and down. Greyson cringed a little at his wardrobe, knowing he wasn’t impressed. The both of them wore baggy harem pants and tight crop tops. Greyson was grateful for Nora’s help in removing the chains connecting his piercings and choker so he could actually wear clothes for once, even if the selection they had was definitely not “combat-ready.”

“Both of you are covered in scars,” Norwell commented calmly. “Knife fights, gun fire, torture. Rabid dogs in your youth, no?”

There was a beat of silence until Greyson realized he was waiting an answer. 

“You have to survive somehow,” he replied softly. 

Norwell hummed and got out of his desk. He walked around both of them, seeing the full extent of their scars and mutilated flesh. The clothes they wore left not a lot to the imagination. Greyson was wearing a white tube top, so thin anyone could make out the gold nipple ring piercings hiding underneath it. Remus wore a halter crop top, the clothes straining over his pectorals, scars peeking out and wrapping around his chest and arms. Moreover, both their stomachs were exposed and bruising from their little welcoming ceremony yesterday. 

“Normal people will just think this is some sadistic play by your old owners, or by my daughter. They wouldn’t think two lofty sex slaves got these from knife and fire fights,” Norwell finally responded. “Dress like whores and people will just think you’re weak. Lower their defences down. You’ll be hiding in plain sight when scumbags like Garrison’s boys think they can just assassinate my child.”

Greyson trained to not react. So those bastards were Garrison’s goons. He fucking knew it. Of course that bastard wouldn’t just let them run free. 

“Do you understand, mutts?” Norwell snapped. 

“Yessir,” both of them said in unison. 

Norwell hummed and circled back around to the front once again. “Good. Now let’s see if you’re actually tough shit or just lucky bastards.”

 

Remus and Greyson came back looking like shit again. Blood was crusted under their noses, and a fresh set of bruises bloomed on their torsos. Their shirts were caked in blood, and pants torn to shreds. Nora quickly got out of bed and to them, a wet towel in hand already, and settled them down on the mattress to clean them up. Greyson smiled at her weakly and let her dab away the blood on his face, dropping the bag he had slung over his back. Remus took his bag from him and placed both of theirs onto the desk, pulling out the _gifts_ they received. 

“We passed the test,” Greyson joked, noticing Nora’s shocked expression when Remus pulled out a rifle from his bag. He laid out the weapons neatly across the table, expression cold and calculating. Pistols, rifles, submachine guns, gas canisters, ammo, and knives of every size and shape. 

“Your father still wants us dead, though,” Remus commented as he picked up a small blade and twirled it in his fingers, his movements fluid and loose from experience. He juggled it in his hand and did a few light slices, switching hand positions in between. He didn’t even seem fazed that his body was covered in cuts and bruises, and blood oozed from his wounds. 

“His specialty is knives and close hand-to-hand combat,” Greyson commented. “I’m the opposite. Firearms and long-range shooting.” 

“You balance each other out,” Nora pointed out. Greyson smiled and nodded. 

Remus picked up twin blades and practiced combat with them once more. It was like he was dancing with them, his movements slow and somewhat sensuous. He noticed the two of them staring and juggled the knives a bit more, such a danger to his act yet he flipped and threw them with such nonchalance. 

“They’re good weapons,” he said calmly, catching both knives at once. “Your father carries good weapons.”

Nora nodded slowly, assuming that was a compliment. “Do you have everything you need?”

Remus and Greyson glanced at each other, a cocky smile on Greyson’s lips. 

“We’re going to need better clothes for combat,” he admitted. “Preferably black or red, for y’know, bloodstains.”

Nora nodded again. “We can make that work.”

“What’s the culture with sex slaves here? Your father wants us to dress like them,” Remus questioned, placing the knives down and walking over to sit beside Greyson. His partner passed him a clean towel and he scrubbed his grimy face. 

She hummed thoughtfully. “It’s a well-known fact here that the rich own slaves. The government does nothing about it because apparently there’s a consent loop hole in the laws, but everyone knows it’s just corruption at this point,” she murmured. She glanced at them and tapped at Greyson’s choker. “These are indications that you’re being owned. Collars like dogs. You have the family emblem stamped into the side and the unlocking mechanisms can only be taken off by your owner. With this choker on, you’re my merchandise, my pet, and whoever tries to touch you will feel the wrath of the Mannarino family.” 

The last sentence came out harsher than Nora wanted it to. It came out possessive. 

Greyson and Remus seemed to not notice, and only nodded slightly. 

“Some owners will add additional jewelry like arm bands, anklets, or bracelets. Some owners will also brand their merchandise. One…of my uncles’ mistresses has the family emblem on her arm,” she continued. “Jewelry is a big thing for slaves. Owners will dress them up in elaborate body jewelry to show off their wealth. More jewels, gold and gems means a powerful master.”

“And I’m assuming the clothes slaves wear are minimal to show off the body jewelry?” Greyson added on. 

Nora nodded. “Pleasure boys are usually topless or dressed with see-through silks. We can probably push it though, my family is known to be conservative, so we could get away with less jewelry, crop tops and maybe for Remus a leather jacket.”

Remus blinked, perking up. 

“What?” He said, a little confused. 

Nora shrugged shyly. “When I bought you, you had a leather jacket. And if you specialize in knives and hand-to-hand combat, you’re going to need protection and a place to hide your weapons. Some masters make their slave wear leather as a means to satisfy a fetish, so it won’t seem out of place for you to wear a jacket as well.” 

“Everyone will just think you’re into leather BDSM,” Greyson joked, side-eyeing his partner. Nora cracked a smile while Remus rolled his eyes. 

“I’d appreciate a jacket,” Remus replied politely. “Thank you.”

He smiled at her and Nora blushed. 

“For Grayson, we could get away with a long maxi skirt that isn’t transparent, something flowy to hide the guns strapped to your legs,” she continued, staring at his thighs. “Oh, the fashion for slaves is gender-neutral by the way. More often than not boys will be dressed in traditionally feminine clothing.”

“We’ve already gotten that down,” Greyson joked, pointing at his blood-stained crop top. “I’m liking this idea of Remus being the more masculine one and me being the more feminine one. I’m willing to be the pretty boy to distract people from the fact that Remus is heavily armoured.” 

Nora nodded. “That’s what I assumed. And you can wear less because you do engage in long-distance warfare.”

Remus blinked at her. “You’ve thought this through.”

Nora blushed again and laughed softly. She rubbed her neck and leaned back. 

“I… haven’t gotten a lot of sleep, so I might as well be productive and plan this stuff out,” she admitted quietly. 

Greyson frowned and rubbed her back. Remus sighed beside him and got up. 

“I’m assuming you’ve already got a list for all the clothes we need,” he said, pushing on the topic. 

Nora appreciated the push. She didn’t want to keep thinking about Cyrus’ limp body. She wanted to move forward, keep surging ahead, protect the men that protected her. Let her nightmares dwell on her past. 

“Yes, I’ve already done some lists,” she replied. “Some clothes for different situations like recon, attacks, assaults, galas and such. I’ve also ordered tactical gear and body armour just in case, and on the complete other side of the spectrum body jewelry and lingerie if we need to prove a point.”

Remus smiled at her. “Thank you,” he said again. “That’ll help us a lot.”

“You’re…welcome,” she replied softly. Greyson smiled and kissed her cheek. 

“We really do appreciate all your help,” he murmured. Nora glanced at Remus and he stared back with this unreadable expression on his face before turning around and walking into the washroom. 

“It’s nothing,” Nora mumbled back, confused by his expression. “I just want to help.”

The shower turned on. 

“I’m here for you,” Greyson whispered. Nora glanced at him and he was close, closer than before, this dewy look in his eyes. Eyes Nora wanted keep as her own. A body she wanted to keep as her own. 

_“Baby, you look so good.”_

She shakily inhaled a breath and pushed him back. 

“Sorry, um,” she stuttered. 

Greyson looked hurt. She bit her lip and got up. 

“I’m going on a walk,” she muttered. 

“You need one of us with you,” he said softly. 

“I’m just going to get a drink, I’m not leaving the house,” she hissed. 

Greyson went quiet. The sound of the shower drowned out the silence. Nora stared at him, on the bed, looking so dejected and broken. She wanted to monopolize that. She wanted him. 

_“Baby, you look so good.”_

There was a shake in her hands when she swung the door open. 

 

 

Greyson felt like he had a fever. 

He was light-headed and dizzy. His movements were slow and sluggish. It felt like he was moving in tar, fighting through thick waters, drowning in it, confused and afraid. His joints ached. His muscles strained. His body throbbed. 

It throbbed down there. _There._

His cock. His asshole. 

_There._

It ached. 

_There._

He wanted stimulation. He _needed_ it. 

He needed it down there. 

Lips. Hands. Dick. 

A powerful body. A dangerous body. 

Two bodies to swallow him whole. 

Shakily, Greyson clicked the door shut and collapsed on top of the toilet seat. He was short of breath. His face burned. His cock throbbed. Even though he was sitting still, the world still spun, his body falling to the side with it, his shoulder hitting the sink, his head rolling back. 

He’s never been this horny before. This feverish for another body. This _insane_ for stimulation. 

He wondered if it was any side effects from the copious of drugs forced into his system. He also wondered if he was just genuinely desperate for Nora and Remus’ touch. It could be a mix of both; he wouldn’t be surprised if it was a mix of both. Those weeks holed up in Nora’s bedroom were heaven, absolute heaven. Everything he craved, everything he desired. To feel wanted. To be loved. To be dominated. To dominate. To spend an eternity kissing Remus, loving Remus, fucking Remus, torturing Remus. To spend an eternity kneeling to a queen, kneeling to a master, obeying her every word, feeling wanted, owned, possessed by a goddess. All the twisted, sick fantasies he’s dreamt of and jerked off to came true. But their eternity came to an end and Greyson was forced back to reality where he’s just a mutt following orders, trained to not love and not feel. His body was a weapon, not something for pleasure. He wasn’t Nora’s sweet kitten anymore. He was just another man. A man that shouldn’t touch her million dollar skin and kiss her billion dollar lips. 

But he wanted to. He wanted to so badly. 

Greyson was shaking, he wanted them so badly, it was maddening. 

Biting his lip, he slid his hand to his groin and rubbed his cock slowly through his pants. His eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath. He could remember hot nights when Remus would kiss him softly before licking down his body to suck his cock. He could remember lazy mornings when Nora woke him up by sneaking between his legs to lick and kiss his flaccid dick. He could remember times where he’s whimpering and shaking as both of them pleasured his dick like he was a god and they were his followers. 

His hand wasn’t enough. 

His hand rubbing his throbbing dick wasn’t enough and that brought tears to his eyes. 

Shakily, he stripped of his clothes and slinked into the tub. Sitting down, he turned the faucets and let cold water spray down on him as he began to jerk himself off. His body was still too hot. His heart raced too fast. His body felt too empty. 

He felt empty. 

Remus and Nora carved out a place in him that can never be filled again. Greyson chuckled sourly. They carved a place in him metaphorically and physically. They left him empty without their love, desperate for their attention, begging for their validation. And they also spread him open physically, stretching his swollen asshole as wide as it could go while they plunged _both_ their cocks into him, making him scream, making him cry, and morphing his body to their monstrous shape. Greyson shivered thinking about the pain and pleasure it brought him. He was such a masochist, such a whore, such awful, sinful waste for wanting something so disgusting like that. Loving being stretched open, loving being pushed to his limits, loving being treated like a fuckhole. It felt so good to be used, to be wanted. 

Greyson bit his lip as he shoved three fingers into his throbbing hole, feeling the burn of going dry, revelling in it. To feel pain made him feel more human. To know his body could throb and hurt like this reminded him that he wasn’t just an agent of the academy. He was a man that could feel emotions and get hurt. He was a man in love with another man and sexually infatuated with a blooming girl. 

When he hit his prostate, he gasped loudly and trembled viscously. Too many memories resurfaced as he pleasured that one sweet spot. Too many memories of his partner and his master pounding into him, tearing him open, making him cum resurfaced. Greyson whined, curling in on himself, grateful the shower drowned out his cries. What he was doing was sinful and dirty. Remus wasn’t on drugs anymore and Nora stopped playing games. They weren’t in a quaint beach house anymore. They were in a mobster’s home, full of men that would gladly rip him apart limb by limb. 

Greyson closed his eyes and shivered. 

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. 

To be gang-raped by Norwell’s men. They’d hold him down and make him feel powerless. They wouldn’t hold back. They’d make him feel pain. They’d show him his place. They’d drown him in their cum, fill him up to the brim, drown him in it. And all the while Nora and Remus would watch, their beautiful bronze and black eyes trained on his ruined figure. They would let the horrors happen. Remus has let it happen before. And Nora loved it. She’d never tell him, but Greyson knew she loved it. He remembered lying on her bed for the first time while she stripped him of his clothes and caught sight of his ruined, stretched asshole. He saw the expression on her face when she pulled toy after toy out of him, and watched the cum trickle out. She was shocked, but never disgusted. There was this morbid excitement in her eyes. 

Greyson’s head lolled to the side and back hit the end of the tub. Pleasure built. He had four fingers in him now, his body relaxed and stretching even further. His cock pulsated in his hand as he jacked himself off, shaking and toes curling when he pleasured the tip of his cock. He thumbed the slit, feeling more and more precum ooze out of him, electricity coursing through his veins as he kept rubbing and rubbing his head. 

He wanted to be used again. 

He wanted to feel again. He wanted to be reminded he was a human and not a killing machine. He wanted to be reminded he was loved and desired. He wanted to remember he was delicate, someone who felt pain and cried out when it hurt. He wanted to remember he could feel love and obsession and pleasure. 

He wanted to forget that he was who he was and just drown in lust. He wanted all these sick and twisted fantasies because the more it hurt, the more he’d forget he was _just_ Agent 483. He was Greyson. _He was Greyson._ Not Agent 483. Not the mutt that specialized in long-distance warfare, seduction and sexual interrogation. He was Greyson, who loved Remus, and the sea and piano because of Nora. Fuck, he might even love Nora for all he cares. Sexually, he worshiped her. But even the softest, most platonic touches set his skin on fire. Maybe it was just his unbridled lust for her. But maybe it was something more. He loved the sea and piano. The sea used to make him sick because of his parents, but now he can only see Nora staring down at him with that gentle smile she always had while the waves echoed in the background. The piano seemed mundane. But then he remembered that morning when Nora cradled Remus in her arms as he cried for the first time in a decade after he heard her play. Afterwards they made love slowly and sweetly, Remus still sobbing hard, kissing Greyson and Nora like he was afraid of losing them. 

Greyson felt like crying as he reached the cusp of his orgasm. 

He was so lonely. So empty without the two of them. He was just a shell. An assassin. A killing machine. A sex slave. He wanted to be loved. To be owned and branded like Nora’s relative’s sex slaves. He just wanted to be Nora’s kitten again. He wanted her to whisper that in his ear as he came, he wanted her to growl that as she fucked his insides, he wanted her to sing it when she came back from work and greeted him with a kiss. 

_Kitten._

_Kitten, kitten, kitten._

_My kittens._

_Sweet, sweet kitten._

_Greyson._

Greyson shivered and his body seized. Cum trickled down his clenched fist wrapped around his cock and mixed in with the bath water. He was crying. He was panting. He was shaking. 

And then he was fingering his stretched asshole again, letting the pleasure and shame build in him once more. 

 

When Greyson exited the bathroom, Remus noticed the redness in his eyes. 

He had been crying. 

 

 

“Do anything stupid here, and we’re gunning you down,” Jackson threatened as he placed their guns onto the table. Remus wasn’t staring at the man nor the weapon, but behind the bullet proof glass to the observation room in front of the shooting range. Nora was sitting by one of the lavish tables, a cup of coffee in hand as another bodyguard tried to strike a conversation with her. She seemed hesitant, almost a little peeved with the attention she received. On the other hand, Remus looked annoyed, but to an untrained eye he looked calm. Too calm. Greyson knew better. He’s grown up memorizing his quirks. 

Quietly, both boys took the guns gifted to them and checked the magazines and safety. Then in seconds they were gunning targets down, Greyson feeling absolutely alive again. 

It felt like years since they’ve gone to a shooting range. 

They used to go a lot when they were younger, fresh-faced and enthusiastic to improve their skills. They were always so thrilled to hold a gun in their hands. A gun meant power and dominance, and after both having such an unstable lifestyle before the academy, having a gun meant having the power over their problems. Having a gun meant being able to kill their demons. Or, Greyson learned this later in life, conjure up even more terrifying ones. 

Keeping his breathing even, Greyson placed his extra magazines in front of him in a neat row, listening to the echoing pop of Remus’ gun. His rhythm was off, it was always off, Remus just a little bit too hesitant or too eager pulling the trigger. Pop, pop. Bang, bang, bang. There wasn’t a steady beat to his actions, just wild instinct that took Greyson’s breath away. In minutes his magazine was empty and he quietly switched them out. In that time frame of about a minute, Greyson aimed his gun and cleared his magazine. Even though the professors and administrators called him a whore, his skills proceeded his infamous reputation. Greyson was always about rhythm and speed. Three pops to the head. Three bangs to the heart. Three pops to the shoulder. Three bangs to the stomach. Greyson hit every target with deadly precision and incredible speed, not wasting a second reloading, popping the magazine and grabbing the next one in seconds without looking. Then he was off again, this time alternating spots from head, heart, shoulders, stomach. Head, heart, shoulders, stomach. Popped off the magazine again and reloaded. Shot right down the target and across, making a cross, popped off the magazine and reloaded, and then just to show off shot the top of the target sheet straight across, cutting it off completely and the sheet floating to the floor. 

He let out the breath he was holding in and switched the safety on and dropped his gun. 

“You’re such a fucking show off,” Remus hissed beside him. Greyson blinked and turned to him, peering through plexiglass to an unamused face. He laughed and playfully stuck out his tongue, petty shit he used to do when he was young. Remus rolled his eyes and gave him the bird, petty shit he used to do when he was young as well. 

“You’re a little rusty,” Greyson joked. 

“I’m getting the job done, asshole,” Remus snapped, firing off three more rounds of bullets. 

“You’re just jealous.”

“You’re cocky.”

Remus side-eyed him and flipped him off one more time. 

 

 

Nora always smelled sweet. Like fruit. 

Cherries and strawberries. 

Delectable. 

Something Remus could pop into his mouth, bite down and squirt onto his tongue. 

He shivered and hugged the sleeping girl a little tighter. He couldn’t stop himself from burying his nose into her hair and smelling her perfume and lotions and the little tinge of sweat. No matter what, she smelled sweet. Delicious. 

Cherries and strawberries. 

Pink and red in his mind. Pink and red in his memories. 

Sweet. 

Remus got out of bed and headed for the washroom. His cock throbbed between his legs. 

He locked the door shut and sat on the toilet. Immediately, his body fell into rhythm, peeling his clothes off his sweaty body until he was just a naked mess on top of porcelain. He’s done this every night for weeks now, his body could do this in his sleep. 

Remus licked and spat in his hand before gripping his dick hard and giving the first relieving pump. He shivered. 

Nora always smelled sweet. Like fruit. 

Nora always tasted sweet. 

Remus’ eyes rolled back remembering the tangy taste of her pussy against his lips. 

Cherries and strawberries. 

Pussy pink and red in his drugged up state. 

How he hungered to be between her legs once again. How he craved to lick and suck her perfect little clit and make her cum by his will. How he desperately wanted to be owned and treated like a pet. 

How sinful. 

What he was doing, jerking off to the thought of a casualty, was breaking dozens of rules he so religiously followed.

Kill your feelings, Agent 397.

Remus’ eyes rolled back as he quickened his pace on his cock. Shakily, he brought his free hand to his lips and sucked on his fingers until they were dripping wet. Then he was lifting a leg up and sliding his hand below his scrotum to tease his puckering, throbbing hole. He gasped weakly, his whole body trembling as pleasure sparked through him like firecrackers. 

He was so fucking pathetic. So weak. So fucking _stupid._

He was pathetic for being so _desperate_ for Nora. 

He was lusting over her. Jerking off to the smell of her hair. Jerking off to the memory of her sweet cunt against his tongue. Jerking off to a _casualty._ A nobody. 

(His master.) 

(His sweet, sweet master that kissed him so sweet and fucked him so good.) 

_Kitten._

A shiver ran through him. 

(Call me kitten. Pet me. Love me. Fuck me.) 

_Fuck me._

_Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me._

He needed to be punished. 

Kill your feelings, Agent 397. 

He needed to be punished for the sins he has committed.

_Spank me, choke me, hurt me-_

Lusting for such a girl is unholy. The daughter of a mobster. A casualty. A beauty. A treat. _A drug._

The drugs he had taken were known to have addictive qualities. They’d cause hallucinations and vivid dreams. The closer a user is to an overdose, the more intense the hallucinations become. Reality and fantasy become one. 

Remus remembered Nora’s pink and red body, her cunt deliciously sweet to the taste. 

Remus should have overdosed back then. He must have had taken at least three times more of the usual dosage. He was experiencing all the signs. Sweating, nausea, intoxication, hallucinations, heart palpitations, loss of self. Maybe he had died, and at his deathbed he met God and her name was Nora, and she tasted like cherries and strawberries. 

God, he was fucked. 

_He was so fucked._

 

 

Remus looked like he hadn’t slept in a long time. He entered the room quietly and sat down on the couch near the window. Sun pooled over his golden features, and he blinked slowly like a cat at Nora. 

Like a kitten. 

Swallowing thickly, Nora blinked back at him. Then she turned back to the piano and resumed playing. This was the fourth time this week Remus has visited her, wandering in like a cat and taking a nap in the sun. 

They never said anything to each other, and just listened to the soft plinks and pangs fill the room. 

 

“You want to go out?”

Nora settled her cup of tea down and nodded slowly. Her mother’s eyes narrowed into slits and lips curled into a frown. 

“I want to travel before I become a full-time mother,” she murmured softly. “Being here made me realize I need to do more for the family. I’ll go to all those galas, exhibits and events I’ve rejected in the past. I understand now the reason you and father forced me to do them is to make connections that can help the family. I want to help now.”

Her mother too settled her cup of tea down and neatly placed her hands folded in her lap. 

“We made you go to those events so you could find a decent man to replace Norwell. That never happened and you ended up being impregnated by two filthy whores,” she snapped. 

Nora lowered her eyes and shrunk a little. 

“I want to do better for the future of my child,” she whispered. “Build stronger alliances with other families, come in contact with better suppliers, and all the while see the world I never got to experience before I come back and lock myself up to motherhood.”

It was quiet for a long time. There was the faint sound of men laughing and chatting downstairs, and the hum of cars outside. 

“What about Garrison and his boys?” Her mother questioned. 

Nora’s heart sped up. 

“I want to introduce myself to him.”

 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Her father spat out. 

Greyson saw Nora flinch. He also saw Remus on her right tense up. 

“I’m a Mannarino,” she said evenly. “And we turn our enemies into allies.”

Norwell was out of his chair, face red and he stalked across the room over to her. 

“You aren’t me,” he threatened. “You’re just a child.”

“I know why Garrison targeted me,” she stated. “He wants my kittens.”

Greyson’s body flushed with warmth. 

_My kittens._

His asshole ached. 

“And why the hell would he want some dumb whores?” Her father ridiculed her. Nora kept her eyes trained forward. There still was some timidness in her actions, but she seemed stronger.

“The same reason why you let me keep them,” she replied. “They’re good at fighting. They can blend in with a crowd and they’ll be overlooked. I also took the liberty to look into Garrison’s own slaves, and they fit his preferences. Tall, male, muscular and scarred. Bodies that can take torture.”

_Torture._

Greyson hungered for it. He shouldn’t be this turned on when his master was being verbally abused by her father. But he was. _He fucking was._

“Do you honestly think he’d try and kill my own daughter?” Norwell threatened. “Just for some sluts that can take a punch?”

“We both know my kittens are good,” she replied, once again saying, “ _my kittens”_ and making Greyson’s body ache for her. “I was at the auction. Every person that tried to buy them were Garrison’s men. They were willing to buy into the millions for them. Probably let me buy them because they thought I was just some weak rich kid that they could ambush and steal from afterwards. I want to show Garrison I’m not some weak rich kid, I’m the daughter of the Mannarino family, a family you shouldn’t be enemies with.”

Her father stepped back, face no longer red, but still a scorn all over his face. 

“You fuck a few men and suddenly you’re so prideful,” he hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I have Copper and Emerald,” she said evenly. “I can make a deal with Garrison. Having one of the most powerful men in the sex slave organization on our side can only be beneficial. Who knows how many other men like Copper and Emerald are out there? How many men we can use to help with recon jobs, interrogation, and ambushes? More guard dogs for a growing family business disguised as weak sex slaves.”

Greyson saw the sneer disappear from her father’s face. He was actually listening to her and digesting the information. 

“And how the hell would you get on the good side of a psychopath like him?” He questioned, less bite to his words. 

“I have Copper and Emerald,” she repeated. “I’ll give him what he wants.”

Her father looked shocked, maybe even a little disgusted. 

“I’m not giving them away,” she said quickly. “I’m just going to show him the _benefits_ of having them.”

Greyson shivered. He itched to have Nora’s hands all over him again. 

Her father paused, his shoulders relaxing and all anger leaving him. He nodded slowly and retreated back to his desk. His eyes flicked from Greyson to Remus and vice versa. 

“If he ever thinks about hurting my daughter, you kill him on sight,” Norwell snapped.

“Yessir,” both guard dogs said in unison. 

 

Remus stood by the door as Greyson hugged Nora tightly. He kissed the top of her head and smiled, nuzzling his face into her hair, the expression so intimate Remus looked away. 

“You did amazing,” he said to Nora as she trembled in his arms. “You did so good.”

Nora gasped and buried her face deeper into his chest. 

“Thank you,” she whispered softly.

 

Greyson shoved four fingers into his throbbing asshole and squeezed his cock a little tighter. Hot water pelted on him, and he moaned out loud as he fucked into his hand and into his stretching hole, pleasure blooming and building in him like a storm. 

_My kittens._

_My kittens._

_My kittens._

Greyson needed it. To be Nora’s kitten once again. He needed it. He was going to go insane without her touch. Without her love. He was going to end up drowning in this fucking tub with his fist up his ass and cock pumped raw without her. 

In seconds, he was cumming for the third time, and this one hurt, a sharp cry escaping him. He was overused and oversensitive, but he wanted to keep this high as if he was an addict. Sexual pleasure made him forget. He wanted to forget. He wanted to be different.

Nora’s Emerald. 

Her kitten. 

Kitten, kitten, kitten. 

He _needed_ it. 

 

Remus today was different when he entered the room. He still looked tired, but there was a worried wrinkle between his brows. Nora kept playing the gentle tune she’s experimented with for the last hour, eyes drifting from the piano sheet to the keys before she was closing her eyes and just listening to the music. She was waiting to hear the creak of the couch to alert her that Remus was sitting now, but after a solid minute she heard nothing and opened her eyes. 

Remus was still standing in front of the door, his eyes glazed over and arms crossed. 

She stopped playing. 

“Are you alright?” She asked gently. 

He snapped out of whatever trance he was in and stared at her. His eyes were intense like a car crash. So dangerous, so hypnotizing. He nodded and walked over to the couch. For a moment Nora thought they’d fall back into the rhythm they’ve made up this past week, but he stilled in front of the cushions, the warm light falling onto one of his shoulders.

“You’re going to get yourself killed helping us,” he muttered softly. 

Nora blinked. She retracted her hands from the piano keys and into her lap. 

“I need to do something,” she whispered. “Doing nothing after knowing so much is killing me _now.”_

“You’re going to have to go through a million of more dangerous situations than confronting your father,” he said coldly. “High-stress situations. Life or death situations. Situations we need you to be calm and collected and not on the borderline of having a panic attack.”

Nora’s hands balled into fists. 

“I know.”

“Do you, though?”

“I do,” she said a little harder. “And I will do them. If I don’t then…”

_Cyrus and her nightmares will catch up to her._

“…Then what’s the point of living,” she finished off in a soft whisper. 

He turned to look at her, a frown set deep. 

“You have everything,” he hissed. “Security. Safety. Money. Why the hell would you want to risk your life for this mission?”

Nora blushed and avoided his hot stare. 

_I need to repent for my sins._

_I want to protect you both._

_I’ll go insane without a purpose in life._

She said nothing for a long time, listening to Remus breathe. 

“If I said I just want to do the right thing, would you be mad?”

Remus blinked at her. 

“I’m always mad.”

She smiled weakly and turned to him. 

“Come here,” she whispered softly. Remus’ frown dropped in an instant, and she could see fear in his eyes. It made her stomach twist. 

Remus did follow in the end. He came up to her and sat on the bench quietly. 

Nora didn’t even have to ask until they were leaning into each other and kissing. 

She didn’t know why she did it, but she did. She just needed this. Remus’ solid body against her, his soft lips on hers. The way he shuddered when Nora grabbed his neck made her guts swirl even more. The way he melted against her when she slid her tongue in made her heart quicken. They kissed for what felt like decades, Nora melding with Remus, finding a familiar pattern they never forgotten, always coming back for more and knowing when to pull back when necessary. The kiss was grossly intimate, no feverish lust behind it, just gentle assurance that the two of them were _here_ and _kissing_ and that’s all they needed. 

Then Remus pulled back, Nora’s tongue leaving his lips, cobwebs of spit dripping off their tongues, keeping them connected before Nora couldn’t help but lick up his saliva. 

Before he said anything, Nora kissed him briefly once more and whispered in his ear. 

“Good luck charm.”

 

Remus fucked himself silly that night. He masked out his cries with the drone of the shower. 

 

 

Nora cried out Remus and Greyson’s name as she came. Her thighs shook and hands scrambled to grab the head between her thighs. She panted, tears in her eyes, body trembling as she came down from her high. 

_“Good kittens,”_ she whined out. “ _My sweet kittens.”_

She released the vice grip she had on the head between her legs and felt the mattress dip as he sat up. Nora blinked away her tears and looked up at him. 

Cyrus was staring down at her. 

Nora screamed and then Cyrus was gone. 

She was staring down at herself. She looked horrified. 

_“No, no, please, stop.”_

The voice that came out of her wasn’t hers. It was deep and masculine. Layered. 

Remus and Greyson’s. 

Nora grabbed her and ripped her shirt open. 

She was screaming. Remus and Greyson were screaming. 

_“No, no, no!”_

 

Nora screamed and thrashed in bed, Remus and Greyson snapping awake. 

“Nora,” both of them said in unison as her eyes split open. She was covered in sweat and she gasped and wheezed hard as if she had almost drowned. 

“Nora, are you-” Greyson didn’t even finish his question before she was shoving him out of the way and stumbling into the washroom. 

Remus was filled with dread as he watched his partner slip out of bed and follow after her. He felt like a deer in headlights, confused and scared, but all the while numb to everything around him. 

Then he heard Nora vomiting. 

 

There was a soft knock on the door. 

_“Nora?”_

Nora froze, clutching onto the toilet seat. Her mind swam and stomach swirled. 

_“Nora, I know you’re in there,”_ Greyson whispered softly. _“Please, let me in.”_

She clutched harder to the seat, shaking, tears welling up in her eyes. Quietly, she sniffled, feeling more of her dinner creep up her throat, feeling the darkness around her stare back at her, egging her own to vomit, vomit, _vomit._

_Murderer._

_Rapist._

_“Baby, you look so good.”_

She sobbed and felt her whole body spasm. She vomited into the toilet once more, tears dripping down her face. She had no control of her body, feeling possessed as she emptied her stomach, feeling helpless, weak, and stupid. Pathetic, _pathetic, pathetic._

The daughter of a mobster, so pathetic. Afraid of some fingers. Afraid of some blood. Afraid of some hands, some lips, some voices. Afraid of men. Afraid of women. Afraid. _Afraid._

She needed to be stronger. She needed to be stronger for Remus and Greyson. She needed to be stronger for herself. She needed to be better. 

_“Novenna.”_

Nora wiped her mouth and sniffled. Weakly, she flushed the toilet and crawled over to the door. With one flick of her finger, the door was unlocked and Greyson was in front of her, wide eyes gleaming in the low light, hands sliding over her arms, reaching for her head, pulling into his embrace. She stiffened but let him hug her, Nora smelling him, smelling that familiar musk and sweet scents from her perfumes and shampoos, smelling something darker underneath all of that, smelling of gunpowder and violence. She hugged him back, arms trembling, eyes squeezed shut, body completely relaxing against him. His hands rubbed her back in soothing circles, and lips pressed against her ear. 

_“You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok,”_ he whispered sweetly. He kissed the side of her head and she cried harder. 

 

Remus clutched onto the sheets tighter as he heard Nora’s sobs come from the bathroom. 

 

Greyson led her up to the top level of the house and to the largest window down the elaborate corridors. They sat on the ledge quietly, Greyson pulling her into his lap, wrapping his big arms around her, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. Nora sniffled and closed her eyes, clutching onto his arm, Greyson twisting it to slide their fingers together and interlock. 

“I get them too,” he whispered softly. “The nightmares.”

Nora squeezed his hand tighter in response, feeling her lip quiver. Why does it feel like she’s known him forever? Why does this feel so _fucking_ right? 

“Sometimes it’s every night. Other times it’s only once a week. But I get them, of course I get them with this kind of job,” he murmured. 

“How do you get rid of them?” Nora croaked out, squeezing her eyes tighter, feeling her whole body shake remembering the sight of bloodied Cyrus, his fingers, his face and the fear that consumed her. 

“You can’t,” he chuckled sourly. “They’re going to keep coming. What’s happened happened and your mind will find every excuse to remember it.”

Nora cried a little harder and sniffled. Greyson kissed the side of her head and with his free hand rubbed her shoulder. 

“Right now the wounds are still fresh, they’re going to sting for a while,” he whispered. “But I swear to you the pain will dull out. You just have to keep moving forward, power through more and more experiences to make you forget, maybe only temporarily, the bad shit that’s happened in the past.” Greyson was quiet for a moment, the buzzing sound of the neon signs outside filling the silence. Nora rubbed her eyes and looked up at him to see him staring down at her warmly, his body coated in a neon blue glow. 

“It’ll get better,” he said softly. “And remember if you are scared, you can rely on Remus and I.” His expression dropped a little, the edges of his lips curling down into a frown. “I understand what you’re going through, you can talk to me. I’ve…gone through the same thing.” He sucked in a breath and looked out into the window. “I love Remus,” he said quietly. He seemed a little surprised by himself, blinking rapidly, his eyes watering. “God, I l-love him.”

Nora slowly pulled herself away from Greyson so he could calm himself. Two blinks and a gasp, and he was steady again. Quick, efficient. 

“When we were teenagers, we were in a secret relationship for about two years. The academy thatraised and trained us found out and threatened to kill Remus. Relationships- emotional ties to another were forbidden. We needed to be trained killers, not in love. They saw Remus as the more expendable one and wanted to teach me a lesson in cutting ties. I-I panicked and…” Greyson sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, a wrinkle creasing between his brows. “I slept with the headmaster.”

His words hung in the humid, hot night air. Nora stared at him, leaning against the glass window, staring at his beautiful blue complexion, seeing the micro-expressions flash across his face. 

“I slept with a lot of the people in power,” he continued. “So that Remus would be safe. But they took advantage of my sexuality. Sharpened it into a weapon. My body wasn’t mine anymore. It was for everyone else.”

Nora blinked, more tears dripping down her face. It felt like she was just stabbed in the gut. It felt like she was on a rollercoaster, soaring higher and higher and higher, and then it just dropped and her stomach fluttered and hurt like hell and her throat closed up. She was anxious and sad and in pain. 

“I understand what you’re going through. Your body isn’t yours. It’s your parents, it’s a tool to further on the family bloodline. You’re just a parrot stuck in a cage, unable to get out. I understand. I really, _really_ understand, and I want to be there for you when you’re scared,” Greyson whispered. 

Nora sniffled and rubbed her face. “But why do that for me?” She croaked out. “I…I raped you. I’m the rapist.”

Greyson’s expression changed. That facade he desperately tried to hide dropped and he looked genuinely shocked. He looked down at his hands for a moment, and Nora could see the moment it clicked to him. 

“Nora, you’re not Cyrus,” he urged, eyes snapping back up at her. 

She weakly smiled at him. 

I am. 

I am, I am, I am. 

I lusted for men that didn’t want me. I forced myself on them. I tore their clothes apart and took what I wanted. 

_Norwell promised me._

I must provide a heir, so therefore, their bodies are mine. 

_Baby, you look so good._

I bought them because they were undeniably attractive. Sexy. Beautiful. 

_Stop fighting, stop fighting._

Nora hiccuped and cried harder. She remembered Cyrus’ four fingers, and his crushed in skull. 

_“Nora,”_ Greyson said a little harder. He grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to look at him. His expression was stern. “Remus and I were off those drugs in two days. We were making love for over a week. I let you fuck me because I wanted it. _God,_ I loved every second of it. You have no idea how many times I’ve masturbated in the shower to the thought of you fucking me. I _like_ you, Nora. And Remus does too, at a certain extent. We wouldn’t let you violate our bodies, we’re trained assassins.”

Nora blushed at his bluntness. 

He smiled at her. “You gave me temporary relief. You gave me a safe haven for just a moment. For being a virgin, you’re a great partner.”

She blushed even harder. 

“H-How’d you know I was a virgin?” She blurted out. 

Greyson grinned. “I’m a good people-reader,” he boasted. Then gently he placed his hand on her cheek and leaned in close, kissing her softly. “I needed every aching moment we had together those initial weeks.” He muttered between kisses. “Even though Remus and I were drugged, the moment you pulled out that switchblade to cut off Remus’ clothes I could have easily taken it and killed you. But you didn’t hurt either of us. Gave us temporary relief. Made a temporary heaven.” 

Nora shivered when he slid his tongue in. She grabbed on hard to his arms, shaking slightly. Greyson took charge, sensuous and slow, experience behind those lips, making her whimper. 

_“If you need me to, I can be your temporary heaven now,”_ he whispered softly into her ear. 

Nora knew this was a bad idea. But then Greyson was kissing her again and she was feeling him shake underneath his fingertips and she remembered what it felt to dive deep into him again and make him scream. 

The more she kissed him, the hazier the image of Cyrus’ dead body became. 

 

Greyson covered his mouth with shaking hands and let out a quiet whimper. His legs trembled as Nora settled between them, spreading him open and revealing his cherry red, leaking cock. The sink was cold underneath him while Nora’s tongue was singeing hot against his skin, licking up and down his rippling abs. Her slender fingers ran up his abdominals to his swollen, glistening nipples and she teased them slowly, swirling her fingers in circles before pinching on the rings and tugging playfully. Greyson gasped, his body still remembering her teasing touch, crumpling on himself, shaking, begging, pleading for more, one hand covering his moans while the other grabbed hold of the back of her shirt. Nora glanced up at him, this hazy, reddened expression on her beautiful face. Greyson could only jut his hips needly against her, knowing if he opened his mouth once he’d be screaming and crying and begging out into the middle of the night. Crammed in this small bathroom right beside her father’s bodyguard’s bedroom, silence was a dead-set rule. But it was getting harder and harder and _harder_ the more Nora tasted and teased him, the girl taking her deliciously sweet time relearning the shapes and curves and taste of his body. 

And then her fingers slid between his asscheeks and Greyson’s toes curled and tears were running down his cheeks. His breathing quickened and he was convulsing and fucking himself desperately against her fingers, his whines louder and distressed. 

_Yes, yes, yes._

_Please fuck me master._

_Kitty fucking needs it._

Nora shoved him hard against the sink, his back hitting the wall and ripped his hand off his mouth. He gasped and a cry came out, but only for a second before their lips were locked and Nora was kissing him ferociously, drinking up all the moans and whines he let out. She tasted like god, so sweet, so liberating, so holy, and Greyson was parched of it. He grabbed his legs and stretched them even wider, letting her get the perfect angle to plunge her pretty little fingers into him, stabbing his swollen, throbbing prostate. He could see fucking stars, eyes fluttering shut and mouth ceasing to function, Nora sweeping him up into a storm. She was a hurricane, feisty, unbridled and unforgiving, fucking him so good and deep more and more tears welled up in his eyes. The obscene slicking noises her fingers made as she pounded his reddened asshole reverberated his skull, Greyson memorizing the wetness and vigour and pain and pleasure her fingers brought him. 

He needed this. His master. His drug. His safe haven. 

And he didn’t fucking care that he seduced her like all his other targets, egging them on, making them want him and worship him. He didn’t care he used the same words and sentences he’s used on warlords, on his professors, on cheap fucks, on Remus to make them _need_ him. He didn’t care that he used his body like a whore that Remus and Nora didn’t want him to be. He didn’t care. It felt so good it brought tears to his eyes and made him forget the world was falling apart around him. 

 

Remus saw the hickey on Nora’s breast as she passed by him in the halls. She smiled gently, unaware of the red mark peeking from her low cut shirt, dark and possessive like emerald eyes in moonlight. He only blinked at her in response before walking down the long, black marbled corridors to the home gym. It was late at night and all of Norwell’s goons were out doing jobs like harassing people for money and protecting shops. Around this time the house was almost empty, for the occasional servant wandering around cleaning rooms or the rare bodyguard taking the day off. Thankfully, no one was in the gym, and the only other soul on the third level of the mansion was Greyson in the communal showers. One look at his scratched back and spanked ass and Remus could connect the dots. He felt anger coil and bubble in his stomach, his heart racing as he waited for him to finish cleaning up before confronting him. As much as he wanted to shove him against the wall and spank him for the sins he’s committed, Remus held back because unlike his partner he had a moral compass, which seemed ironic for the career he’s chosen. 

Greyson locked eyes with him as he turned off the faucets and padded out of the shower room slowly, intentionally letting Remus drink up the sight of him. Wet, dripping and deliciously naked. Remus’ eyes couldn’t help but rack down his triangle figure, following the network of scars and bumps and ridges of his muscles down to his flaccid, long cock and swayed as he walked with those powerful, thick legs. Remus had more bulk to him, but Greyson was pure muscle. He looked like he was carved from stone, beautiful, hypnotizing and powerful in every way. Every inch of his body was muscle, not a spec fat. 

His eyes snapped back up to his beautiful face, and Remus saw the bite marks on his neck and collarbones. He felt his lips curl in distaste, and Greyson only smirked in response. He hated that smirk. That smirk already ended the argument. 

Greyson knew what he was doing was wrong. And he revelled in it. 

It was the same smirk he gave him after Remus lowered him into a warm bath after the headmaster “changed his mind.” It was the same smirk he gave him when Greyson enrolled in seduction classes. It was the same smirk he gave him when he told Remus he eliminated his target in bed by cutting his dick off. It was the same smirk he gave him when they were twenty, crammed in some cheap Jeep, seconds before they fucked their brains out. 

He shivered at the smirk. 

Greyson was chaotic. He was evil. He was bad for him. 

“I thought you’d treasure Nora,” he said instead of blowing up at him. He’s known Greyson for over a decade, he knows how to get under his skin. He’s gone through enough arguments to know his partner will react if he comes out with, “You shouldn’t be sleeping with a casualty.”

Greyson’s expression changed and Remus felt a little satisfied that he cracked his shell. Hotly, he passed him and grabbed a towel to rub down. 

“I am. I’m helping her forget,” he replied curtly. 

“You’re manipulating her to get what you want,” Remus snapped. 

“And what do I desperately want?” Greyson challenged. 

Remus narrowed his eyes, feeling a snarl bubble up. “You want to forget that you’re Agent 483. You want to forget you’ve been treated like a whore your whole life. You want to forget that you ever had a life before Nora bought us. You just want to be a spoiled, filthy rich _kitten._ ”

His insults echoed in the change rooms, bouncing off the tiles, coming back at Greyson in waves, repeating over and over and over again. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” Greyson hissed. The grip on his towel tightened. 

“I’m not wrong,” Remus countered. “I know you. God, I know you so much more now. You’re even more selfish than I thought you were. I thought you were doing this out of genuine sympathy for Nora. But all I now see is a pathetic bitch succumbing to pleasure to run away from his problems. Nora doesn’t deserve that.”

Greyson’s beautiful face twisted into a snarl. His eyes were glassy. Remus’ heart stung. It twisted, it stretched, it _hurt._

“Maybe I am,” Greyson spat. He threw his towel onto the bench and stomped over to Remus. Hotly, he shoved him in the chest, making him step backwards. “But sooner or later, you’re going to have to face the fact that you want all the filthy and disgusting desires I like as well. You can’t just kill off all your emotions and _be ok_ , Remus. You’re going to self-destruct.” He shoved him a little harder, pushing him against the lockers, a metallic clang echoing through the steamy, tiled room. “You’re not better than me.”

“I’m not manipulating _Nora._ I’m not having sex with her to forget my mission,” he snarled out before he could stop himself. 

Greyson squinted at him. “You want to, though. I know. Of course I fucking know, I’m obsessed with you. I’ve smelled you when you dip out of bed at night and come back smelling like musk. I know the scent of a guilty man jacking off. I know _your scent._ I’ve masturbated to it so many times.”

Remus swallowed thickly, feeling the hostile tone change. The anger in his guts only boiled even higher, suffocating his lungs like an inferno. 

“There you go avoiding the fucking subject again,” Remus hissed. “You use your sexuality to divert any weakness of you. Trying to rile me up at the thought of your jacking off to my scent to distract from the fact that you’re a _monster_ for manipulating Nora isn’t going to work on me, asshole.”

Greyson’s heated expression dropped. The tone changed instantly, icy cold, the hand on Remus’ hand no longer soft and inviting but hard and cruel. Like a viper, Greyson stepped into his bubble and crushed their lips together like a car crash, Remus a deer in headlights as his partner kissed him. It felt like he had sucked all the air from him and left him gasping, dying, drowning in him. 

Furious, Remus bit hard on Greyson’s inviting lips, feeling blood burst against his tongue as Greyson pulled back with a yelp, touching his mouth. His eyes widened and he stared at him in disbelief. Remus spat out the blood on his tongue onto the tiles, glaring at him. 

But Greyson was a masochist and Remus was suddenly pinned to the lockers once again, both wrists pinned down and lips locked with his partner. Remus tried to fight his way out, yanking at his arms, but Greyson left no openings, and his lips overwhelmed his senses. He was a good, experienced kisser. So good to even make Remus weak in the knees, his eyes threatening to flutter shut and succumb to the pleasure. But he could still taste blood on his tongue and he fought his primal urges. He let himself go limp to Greyson’s pleasure, letting him believe he finally conquered him, letting him pull back for only a second before he head-butted him hard, satisfied to hear him yelp in pain and stumble back. Remus surged at him and shoved him hard, wrapping arms around his waist to slam him down onto the tile. Greyson let out a cry and Remus’ heart twisted a little, but the animal in him was out and pinned Greyson down. Without even thinking, Remus punched him right in the cheek, watching his head snap back. 

Adrenaline pumped in his veins and his vision was starting to blotch again. Breathing hard like a beast, he slowly got up and stepped away from his partner. His hands itched for a fight, but instead he just punched a locker door with all his might, releasing all that pent-up frustration, not caring that someone is going to question the dent and punish him, and that his hand throbbed in so much pain. 

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly just wanted to push my writing style a little more out there into the bizarre so if it's crazy, well that's why  
> next chapter will probably go up soon and then it's a waiting game  
> gonna update this when i can get to it ya feel
> 
>  
> 
> [talk to me on my tumblr!](https://local-little-kiddos-art.tumblr.com/)


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